The Tower
by Mel Morganne
Summary: A series of one-shots featuring the Avengers as they come to terms with what it means to be a team, and possibly, even a family. The newly rechristened Avengers Tower takes centre stage as a silent witness to the laughs, bantering, fights and tears that take place inside its walls. Follows movie canon from Marvel's Avengers to Age of Ultron.
1. Prologue

**Authors Note:** Hey all! Welcome to my first venture into the world of fanfiction. I've had ideas floating around in my head for a while now and finally decided to write them down and post them here. My main goal is proper characterization of the different Marvel characters, specifically the Avengers, and attempting to dig deeper into some of their emotions and interactions with each other. I would love to get some feedback so if you have a moment, please send me a review!

The first one-shot is set after the Battle of New York but the rest will not necessarily follow in chronological order. If you have any ideas or suggestions for possible one-shots, feel free to send me a message! My plan is to focus on the six original Avengers from when they first start working as a group, until they go there separate ways after Age of Ultron. I'll be writing a variety of pieces as my muse strikes me - humour, angst and everything in between. No romance though unless it's canon established but lots of friendship.

Again, thanks for clicking on my story and enjoy!

M :)


	2. The Start of Something New

**The Start of Something New**

 _In which Tony returns to the Stark Tower after the Battle of New York and invites the team over for lunch._

Custom glass panels lay shattered in an infinite number of crystalline fragments. The marble floor slabs - imported directly from the best quarry in Italy - showed large cracks and two strange, humanoid imprints marred the once smooth surface. A dark-haired figure, dressed in jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt with bruising still visible on his face and arms, stepped over one of the holes and looked around him with slight annoyance.

"This is definitely not what I had in mind in terms of interior design," he muttered to himself. A draft from the broken windows panels sent a shiver down his spine. "Jarvis, what do you think about special suit conduits? I'm getting really tired of them bursting through the walls and windows whenever they feel like it and destroying my property."

"It is an option worth considering." The smooth British voice of the disembodied AI emanated from the walls. "In reference to the last such occurrence though, sir, I deemed it appropriate for the Mark 7 to be deployed in the most direct route possible which unfortunately involved breaking the glass panels."

"I know, I know, don't worry about it." Running a finger through his tousled hair, Tony Stark absentmindedly surveyed the damage again.

"Oh. My. Goodnes." A breathless, feminine voice interrupted the stillness of the room.

Turning towards the sound, Tony's face lit up when he saw Pepper Potts standing just outside the elevator doors.

"Pepper! Sorry about the mess. In my defence it wasn't my fault this time."

"What happened here? Are you okay? I saw it on the news and came as quickly as I could. What were you thinking Tony? That was a nuke! A nuke!" Talking a mile a minute, Pepper had reached Tony and was anxiously checking his bruised face. As usual, she was immaculately dressed in a dark navy blue pencil skirt and blazer over a white top, but her eyes held a wide and frazzled look.

Tony shrugged but didn't back away from her inspection. "You know, saving New York from an invading alien space army. The usual."

"You . . . you unselfish bastard! I thought you were going to die! What made you think about flying into that wormhole!"

Flinching, Tony took Pepper's slim hands between his own. "One, please don't motion the wormhole, Pepp. And two, I thought I was a selfish bastard? Isn't unselfish a good thing?"

"Just don't scare me like that again."

"I'll do my best. No promises though. Occupational hazard of a superhero." He wrapped his arms around Pepper and held her close. In truth, he needed this embrace as much as she did. So much had happened that day; he needed to feel safe and secure again.

"Do you want a drink? I could use a drink," Tony asked after a long moment, already moving towards the bar.

Pepper nodded gratefully then gestured around her. "And all this?"

"Well I've got the regular construction and maintenance crew out helping with the clean-up of the city but then I'll get them to start rebuilding. I've already got some improvements in mind." The genius' mind was busy creating new floor plan layouts.

"Well I'm going to take a look around and see what else has been destroyed," Pepper told Tony, moving towards the door.

"Wait, Pepper, wait! What's that thing called? You know, the thing to clean stuff." He had set his tumbler down on the bar counter and made a broad gesture with his arms.

"A broom, Tony? Are you talking about a broom?"

"Yes! Do we have one of those?"

A carefully concealed sliding door beside the bar revealed a small, fully equipped cleaning closet. Pepper took out the broom and held it towards Tony.

"Do you even know how to use one of these?"

"It can't be that hard," Tony replied, grabbing the handle. "It's all about the careful calibration of the arc of the swing and applied force. Or Jarvis can find me a tutorial on YouTube."

"Of which there are in fact, several," JARVIS spoke up.

Pepper left Tony to his application of mathematical principals to the art of sweeping. The genius was whistling away happily as he tried to bring some order to the reigning disarray. He was rather engrossed in his task, having just figured out that he needed to combine the proper force with accurate aim, when a voice interrupted him.

"Don't you have a cleaning staff for this kind of thing, Stark?"

Tony turned to face the intruder. "Security breach, Jarvis. Again."

"Director Fury asked me not to relay his arrival; only to inform him of the current location of your whereabouts," the AI replied, not in the least apologetic.

Tony rolled his eyes and faced the leather-clad figure that stood in the middle of the room. "Well, here I am. What do you want?"

"Just checking up on everyone. I spoke with Rogers and he said nobody has seen you after your victory shawarma feast."

"I'm busy, obviously. And why would Cap care?"

Nick Fury crossed his arms and cocked his head slightly to one side as he stared at Tony. "I assume he views looking after the well-being of his team members as part of his job."

"Ah, right. The team,," Tony walked back to the bar and poured himself another drink. "I'd forgotten about that. What is everyone up to?"

"Rogers and Banner have been busy helping with the clean-up effort of the city. Barton and Romanoff have reported back to SHIELD and Thor is with Dr. Selvig, babysitting the Tesseract and Loki."

"You make it sound as if we really are a team."

"Aren't you?"

"We were lucky yesterday," Tony replied with a sarcastic laugh. "Doesn't change the fact that we're still a group of misfits who argue with each other more than anything else. Or do their best trying to destroy my tower."

Fury took a few steps forward. "Give it time, Stark. You might be surprised. Maybe you can rebuild this tower into something new, something better."

"Like?"

"Did you happen to notice that the only letter of your name still attached to the building is the 'A'?" Fury asked in response.

"Really? Those were damn expensive and hard to put up." Tony's voice was filled with the type of insincere frustration that only a billionaire could muster.

"Maybe you should leave it," Fury told him.

Tony's snorted. "I don't like the idea of reducing my name to a mere letter."

"It's not just about you anymore," Fury retorted, his voice as calm as ever. "The 'A' can stand for something else too."

"What?" Tony challenged.

"You'll figure it out," was the simple reply. He turned on his heels and walked back out without another word.

"That guy is positively in _furi_ ating, pun fully intended," Tony muttered to himself. He turned in a full circle as he looked around the room. All the glass had been casually swept out the window and the broken marble slabs dumped into the two small craters. "It does look kinda empty here though."

—

It was around noon the next day and Tony was starving. He made his way to the bar where the only digestible items in the tower could be found. Pepper was sitting on a bar stool, typing away on her StarkPad.

"There's nothing to eat, Pepp, and I'm hungry," he greeted her as he reached for a bottle of scotch.

"Then drinking on an empty stomach is probably not the best idea," the strawberry blond woman replied without even looking up from the screen.

"I'm kinda craving shawarma again. Do you think they do delivery? It won't be the same without the others though," Tony rambled quietly to himself.

"Why don't you invite them here then? Order some food and have a little lunch together."

Tony looked at Pepper in surprise. "You know what, that is a genius idea! What would I ever do without you?"

"Starve to death, most likely," Pepper retorted, but a soft smile played around her lips.

Tony crossed over to her and snuck his hands around her waist. "J, get in touch with the other Avengers and tell them to report here in thirty minutes stat. And order some pizza."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS replied, already sending out the summons and looking for the number of the closest pizza place.

Pepper closed the StarkPad and gathered her things. "I have a meeting with some potential suppliers. Enjoy your meal."

A frown appeared on Tony's face as he attempted to stop her from leaving. "You're not staying?" he whined in his spoiled-boy voice.

"It's your team, Tony. Next time, maybe."

The pizza arrived promptly in twenty minutes; the poor delivery guy needed to make three trips to his car before he had brought everything into the tower. Just as he drove away, another car came to a stop with squealing tires. Tony held the elevator for the two black-clad figures that squeezed in beside the mounds of pizza boxes.

"Did you invite everyone at SHIELD as well?" Clint asked Tony.

Natasha Romanoff's lips quirked into a smile. "Have you ever tried feeding a Norse god and a super soldier, Clint?"

"Fair point," Clint Barton replied. He and Natasha helped Tony bring all the pizza into the middle of the large room. Already the enticing smell of pizza was spreading everywhere."

The elevator dinged again and Bruce Banner walked out. "Tony, I think your air freshener system needs a little - oh. So that's why it smelled like pizza."

"Doc! You made it!" Tony seemed genuinely happy as he welcomed the scientist to join the little circle around the pizza mountain. "Unfortunately the tower isn't completely ready yet for an Open House but at least the labs escaped most of the damage. I'll show them to you after."

"Uh, sure. Thanks Tony," Bruce replied, adjusting his glasses and taking a seat on the floor.

A few minutes later, the elevator opened again and Steve Rogers and Thor walked out.

"Greetings, fellow Avengers," Thor said and sat down, reaching for the first closest pizza box without preamble. "Let the feast begin!"

Steve had stayed on his feet and reached out his hand to Tony who had gotten up again. "Thanks for the invitation, Tony. How have you been?"

"Just swell," Tony replied in his usual off-hand manner. "Renovating, redecorating, that kind of thing."

"You might want to think about making it Hulk-proof then," Steve added with a smile. He saw Bruce wince and turned to him. "No offence, Doctor."

"None taken," Bruce replied, though he wrung his hands in a nervous gesture. "In my defence, at least the tower is still standing."

"Exactly!" Tony exclaimed, as he and Steve sat down. "And besides, I'm quiet a fan of Loki-shaped holes. Adds an art nouveau touch. If you want, you can throw him through another few walls or floors."

"I will not allow you to use my brother in the reconstruction of your dwelling," Thor interrupted, somehow able to say the formal words with half a slice of pizza in his mouth.

"Speaking of which, how is the dehorned reindeer?" Tony asked.

"More importantly, what do you plan on doing with him?" added Natasha, arching an eyebrow at Thor.

Everyone suddenly looked up at Thor with interest.

"With the power of the Tesseract, I will take him and the cube back to Asgard where he will face justice."

"Did SHIELD agree to this?" asked Clint curiously.

"I do not need their permission," the Norse god answered. "The Tesseract has already caused much chaos on Midgard; it is clear that humans cannot yet be entrusted with an infinity stone. It will be held safe on Asgard."

"I'll be glad it's gone," Steve threw in, attacking another pizza box with gusto. "Hopefully that erases the last trace of Hydra as well."

The Avengers continued eating and bantering amongst each other. The exchange seemed as natural as among a group of close friends but every so often a remark or glance betrayed the lighthearted atmosphere. They had fought, suffered and won together, but were still a far cry from trusting each other and being truly open and honest. Even the laughter seemed forced at times, though a smile was on everyone's faces - even Natasha's.

At last, even Steve and Thor had eaten their fill and everyone lounged casually on the floor, a bottle of beer in their hands. Or ice tea, in Bruce's case.

"So I've been thinking," Tony spoke up into the silence.

"This has got to be good," Clint quipped, taking a drink from his beer.

Tony loftily chose to ignore that remark. "Although we've all deserved a vacation, I highly doubt that all world-ending catastrophes will be taking a permanent break as well. So . . . we need some kind of base. An Avengers base. Something that has nothing to do with SHIELD - so no helicarrier and definitely not the Triskelion in DC."

Silence followed Tony's words as everyone seemed suddenly very interested in the contents of whatever they were holding in their hands. Only Steve looked around the small group at each of the members. "I don't think that's such a bad idea," he said.

Tony looked at him, a comic mixture of surprise and delight on his face. "Really? I mean of course, it's a great idea, obviously." He turned to everyone else, "See? Cap is on board."

"And by Avengers base I assume you mean this tower?" Natasha asked.

Tony nodded. "Even though Cap thinks it's a big ugly building, I think it will do quite well. Especially once I've got it remodelled to suit our needs. And of course each of you will get your own private floor that you can plan according to your very own specifications."

"You mean you want us to live here as well?" asked Clint.

"Why not?" Tony replied, as if it is was the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean it's going to be hard to get Brucy here to leave my labs so I might as well give him an actual room to sleep as well. And as far as I know, Cap doesn't even have a place to sleep and Thor doesn't have any permanent place to stay either besides his girlfriend's. And I doubt you two spies have anything resembling a normal house anywhere."

"Or maybe we just like everyone to think that," Natasha retorted, a mysterious smile playing on her face. "Besides, Clint and I have been ordered to report to SHIELD at the Triskelion for our next missions and I believe the good Captain has been made an attractive offer as well?"

"How do you know about that?" Steve asked as the spy shrugged slightly.

"What's this all about?" threw in Tony.

The soldier sighed. "SHIELD wants me to work for them, mainly doing missions that involve some physical action. It's not like I have a job or anything; the end of the war kinda put an end to the soldier thing."

"So no happy family team thing all living together?" Tony seemed disappointed.

"Since when were you all 'yay team' anyway?" Natasha asked him.

Before he had a chance to reply, Clint spoke up. "I never said it was a bad idea though. I can think of worse ways of spending some time off than lounging in my own private, all-inclusive, state-of-the-art floor. And if we do get a new mission, it'll be nice to have a base."

"There! Exactly!" Elation was back in Tony's voice. "That's three on my side."

"I cannot say how much time I will be spending on Midgard in the future, but I also concur that having a place to come to will put my mind ease, especially if Jane is off somewhere working," Thor said.

"I'm not against the idea either," Bruce added. "I think I should be laying low for a while and though this place isn't exactly low profile, at least it's secure."

Tony's grin widened even further. "And that's five. What about you, Red? You're outvoted anyway. Not that this really was a vote since it was my idea and I would've done it anyway."

"Yeah sure. Beat's the hell out of most of my safe houses."

"Good." Tony looked enormously pleased with himself. "And that's a wrap for our first team meeting. Thanks for coming all, expect an email shortly with further developments and input for your part of the tower."

"As long as it's not called the Stark Tower," said Steve.

"We can call it Stark's Tower for the Avengers," Tony threw back.

"How about just the Avenger's Tower," said Bruce quietly.

Everyone murmured their agreement, even Tony. As silence fell back on the group, a slight hint of tension seemed to disappear. Maybe they weren't really a team yet. Maybe they were still the group of dysfunctional misfits that many of the them thought they were. But they all realized that they had accomplished something special together and that they were all willing to give it a shot to keep it going. For a group of six individuals that all came from past or current broken homes with complicated family situations, they all felt a warm feeling inside when they looked at each other. After all, it was a good feeling to have a place to call home.

* * *

 **A/N:** There's the first one-shot! Basically I was just trying to establish the scene and lay some groundwork. I'd love hearing your feedback and opinions!


	3. The Warriors Five

**The Warriors Five**

 _In which Thor is about to go back to Asgard and feels surprisingly downhearted at the thought of leaving Midgard and the warriors he has encountered during his brief stay._

A fresh morning breeze lifted the edge of his red cloak and ruffled his long blond hair. Standing at the edge of the balcony that surrounded the common room of Stark's - no, the Avenger's Tower - Thor, Prince of Asgard and god of thunder, looked out at the vista that spread before him. New York was bathed in a golden shimmer as the sun slowly rose above the horizon. Despite the evident destruction that surrounded the tower, it was a grand vista indeed. Even for one who was used to splendours far beyond the concept of this realm had to admit that this city held its own against the grandeurs of Asgard. Especially after having seen only a tiny desert town in the middle of nowhere, Thor never ceased to be amazed by the mortals who lived out their lives far below him.

"Not a bad view, don't you think?"

Thor turned quickly, not having heard the silent footsteps of the woman who had approached him. Natasha held two cups of coffee in her hand and offered one to Thor.

"My thanks, Lady Natasha," Thor said gravely, accepting the offered cup. "I have come to quite enjoy this particular beverage."

"Just Natasha, please," the redhead said with a slight grimace. "I hardly think the term 'lady' is very appropriate."

Thor raised his eyebrows in surprise. "It is a term of respect; one which applies very well to you I should think. Your prowess in battle and your valiant effort of closing to the portal were most advantageous for us."

"Well thank you, but I do prefer being called just by first name."

"As you wish, Natasha," Thor replied with a smile. She reminded him of his dear friend, Lady Sif - who did not at all mind the title. Both were warriors in their own right, capable of facing any enemy that crossed their way and not afraid to put their friends in their proper place either.

"So you're heading back to your own world?" Natasha asked after a moment of silence.

Thor nodded. "I am. Dr. Selvig has mentioned that the vast green space in the centre of this city is a good nearby place where we could also pass unobserved. I will be heading there before midday."

"Central Park. Yeah, it'll work," assented Natasha. "I hope you don't mind if we all come along too. Wouldn't want to miss saying goodbye to your dear brother."

"In the hopes that you never see him again, I presume?" Thor questioned, a smile on his face. He didn't share in many of the humorous exchanges of the humans but Natasha's dry wit appealed to him.

Natasha's lips quirked in response. "Well I can't say we'll miss him much. But come, I think I saw Clint getting some breakfast ready."

"A good suggestion. I have not yet broken my fast today."

They walked back inside and made their way to the kitchen from which the enticing smell of eggs and bacon emanated.

"Friend Clint! I had no idea you knew how to concoct such marvels," Thor boomed as he grabbed a plate and shovelled an alarming amount of the food in the frying pans onto it.

Clint watched his breakfast walk away from him and grabbed the carton of eggs from the fridge again with a wordless sigh. "As long as it involves a frying pan and nothing more than three ingredients, I can manage," he replied, cracking a few eggs into a new pan in rapid succession.

At the rate which the food disappeared into Thor's apparent bottomless pit, the Asgardian warrior seemed to approve of the archer's cooking skills. In fact Thor was fast coming to appreciate the wonders of Midgardian cookery, as he called it. Jane's quirky assistant, Darcy Lewis, had been keen on introducing him to as many new foods as possible and it wasn't all that bad. Nothing beats a boar on a pit slow-roasted over a fire - especially if said boar had found it's way to the spit with a little help from Mjölnir - but there was much merit in some of the different dishes he had tasted in this realm. Humans had a rather eclectic taste was Thor's predominant opinion; they were very fond of spices and sauces and often seemed to prefer convenience to quality.

No, humans could definitely not be faulted for being bland, Thor thought. They were easily dismissed because their apparent differences often incited disunion rather than union but variety could be a strength as well. The daily newspaper sat on the kitchen counter and caught Thor's eye. 'New York's Saviours' ran the headline on the front page, followed by several images of the Avengers fighting the Chitauri. Thor knew that he would have previously only considered Steve, the super soldier himself, as a worthy warrior to accompany him in battle but he now knew that the man of iron was just as brave in his own right and the two quiet spies fought with unrivalled tenacity and ferocity. Even the mild-looking doctor could transform himself into a monstrous warrior who was definitely his match.

"What's the gossip say about us today?" Clint asked, pointing his chin in the direction of the newspaper as he flipped a few sizzling slices of bacon.

"It seems this daily booklet is heralding us as the saviours of this city," replied Thor. "Although I do not seem to be able to locate any images of you two."

"For the better," Natasha responded. She snagged half of the bacon ignoring Clint's glare. "We're still working for SHIELD and keeping a low profile isn't a bad thing."

"You do not wish to share in the glory that you have rightfully earned?" Thor asked in puzzlement. Despite his changes in the last few years, he was still very much a warrior prince that enjoyed basking in the admiration and adoration of his people.

The master spy and assassin laughed and shook her head. "I am used to the shadows."

"Harder to see an arrow coming at you from the dark," Clint added in agreement.

"More attention for us then! How kind of you to step back and let the true heroes stand in the spotlight."

At the snarky interruption, everyone's head swivelled towards the doorway through which Tony entered. He had evidently heard the last part of the conversation and was unable to resist adding a comment of his own. He made his way to the coffee machine to refill the cup he already held in his hands.

"Ooh, is that bacon and scrambled eggs?"

"It's _my_ bacon and scrambled eggs," said Clint forcefully.

"Easy there, we all share here. I give you a place to stay, Red over there is giving me her share of media attention and you can share your food."

Grumbling to himself, Clint nevertheless stepped aside to let Tony take his share of food.

"Why thank you, Legolas," smirked Tony. He took a bite of the scrambled eggs. "Or should I say, Sam? This isn't half bad."

Pepper walked in accompanied by the rhythmic staccato of her heels. "Only because you're used to eating junk food and power bars," she told Tony in her no-nonsense voice. "We're going to have to keep the kitchen stocked more regularly if all you Avengers are going to be dropping in and out of here."

"Sure, you can handle that can't you Pepp?" Tony called over his shoulder as he left the kitchen and made his way back to the lab. "I have zero concept of buying food that's not already completely cooked and ready to eat."

Pepper just rolled her eyes and turned to the other three that were still in the kitchen. "I hope you had a good night. My apologies for the temporary set-up; your own floors will be available shortly."

"No worries, I slept great."

"It's all good, Pepper, thanks."

"I had a most satisfying rest during the rest, Lady Pepper."

The answers came fast and quick. Of course they all slept fine; this was not the time to be sharing stories about reoccurring nightmares or staring at the ceiling for hours without being able to fall asleep. If Pepper noticed, she didn't say anything. She was, after all, no stranger to Tony's own occasional bouts of insomnia and knew better than to ask further.

After finishing his breakfast, Thor refilled his cup of coffee, putting in an alarming amount of milk and sugar, and strode over to the wide windows. He mulled over the idea of having a semi-permanent place in this tower to come to when the occasion warranted it. He knew he wouldn't be back for a while, at least not until the bifrost was rebuilt and operational again. The Asgardian suddenly realized that he _wanted_ to come back, and not just because of Jane Foster.

He had come back to Midgard with the intention of snapping up Loki and taking him back to Asgard before any more havoc could be wrought in this beloved realm of his. Instead, he had found himself in an uneasy alliance with a meddling government agency that had not only tried to prevent him from taking back Mjölnir when he first came to Midgard, but also managed to mess around with an infinity stone. Humans had a tendency of getting into problems way over their head, he mused. In the end though, he had experienced the pleasure of a truly magnificent battle alongside comrades that were the equal of the Warriors Three and Lady Sif. Thor had most definitely not expected to find a lady love in his dear Jane, and even less a group of humans with whom he could fight alongside in his continued quest to protect Midgard from harm.

He could not yet call them friends for he hardly them very well. He enjoyed the company of Captain America for he had much in common with the super soldier. Iron Man he regarded with a wary eye, not sure if he truly fought for them or only himself. He admired Hawkeye for his skill but the archer tended to be reclusive. The Black Widow he distrusted despite knowing that she was on the good side. With Dr. Banner/Hulk he was not quite sure how he should interact for the two personalities and bodies in one form was an odd concept. Nevertheless, he was glad to know that Midgard did have at least a slight semblance of a group of people that it could rely on for protection. That was a great relief for Thor; he cared much about this realm and had appointed himself its protector thinking that it could not fend for itself. He was glad to be wrong about that, and even happier to share the burden.

"Something smells delicious. Is there bacon?" Thor turned to see Steve walking into the kitchen, an eager look an his face that quickly turned to disappointment when he didn't see any food. His shirt was drenched in sweat and clung to his sculpted upper body. He had evidently just come back from a morning run and was hungry.

"I am afraid it as all gone, my friend," Thor told him. Apparently Clint had finally managed to cook something for himself and had immediately left afterwards. Natasha was gone as well. "I am sure there is are some other edible items in the refrigerator though."

Opening the fridge, Steve saw a carton of milk and grabbed it. "Maybe there's some cereal lying around."

"Cereal? Ah, that is the strange crunchy things that comes in a variety of colours and flavours."

"Too many flavours in my opinion," the man from a different time era replied. "Back in my day we had cornflakes. Now it's all sugar and chemical mixtures. This will have to do," he sighed as he located a box of honey-nut cheerios.

Thor remained silent. He was hardly the expert in Midgardian customs so he felt unable to give an appropriate response or reassurance.

"May I ask you a question, Steve?" Thor began a little awkwardly when the other man had sat down and began shovelling cereal into his mouth.

Steve made a gesture with his free hand for him to continue.

"I am unsure as to what exactly the title 'captain' means which you bear. During the battle you took control and acted with authority. Is this because you are a captain or because of your previous experiences in war?"

Steve swallowed, suddenly nervous. He had wrapped his mind around the fact that there were indeed other realms out there and it was clear that Thor considered himself superior to the human race, even though he didn't walk around puffed up with arrogance. He was also a prince, which meant royalty. Steve wasn't sure if Thor felt slighted that he had taken charge during the battle but the question seemed sincere.

"I guess a . . . a bit of both," he stuttered after he had swallowed. "The title of captain is a military designation for someone in charge of a group of men. He fights alongside them in the field and gives the orders. His job is to accomplish the mission while protecting his men and making sure they get back safe."

Thor nodded. This made sense to him. They also had a system of command amongst their warriors on Asgard.

"I was first given the name mainly as a publicity stunt," Captain America continued, embarrassment in his tone. "I guess the name has a nice ring to it. But then in the war, I was in charge of a group of men called the Howling Commandos. I guess you could say we were an elite combat unit." Embarrassment gave way to pride as he spoke about his men.

"I also have a close group of friends who have fought loyally by my side for many years now," said Thor.

"I hope you aren't offended that I took charge during the battle. It just kind of happened." Steve fastened his eyes upon Thor's face, trying to read his expression.

"Of course not, do not let it trouble you," replied Thor instantly. "I was merely curious. Indeed, I have realized that my knowledge and understanding of humans is still quite limited and so I have no qualms if you are the leader."

"Thank you, Thor. That means a lot to me. It's always nice to fight with an experienced warrior."

Thor leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "Is that also referring to the inexperience of the other Avengers?"

Steve sighed. "Not inexperience, exactly. They're just not . . . military trained, like I am."

"Fear not. The more battles we fight, the more we will work together as a team. It took many battles before the Warriors Three and I were able to work together successfully and even more until we deigned the Lady Sif to join us, much to our advantage as it turned out."

"The Warriors Three?"

"My fellow warriors, my friends on Asgard."

Steve smiled. "Well, here you've got five others that are willing to fight with you."

"The Warriors Five of Midgard," Thor chuckled. "I much prefer the Avengers, it has a nice bloodthirsty sound to it. Like the sound Mjölnir makes as he whistles through the air."

"It is a good name," Steve agreed as he got up and quickly rinsed his dishes in the sink. "I'm going to grab a quick shower but I'll be down in time to head to Central Park. I heard you'll be heading back."

Thor nodded. "I would be glad of your presence. I wish to properly say farewell to everyone."

"Not forever though."

"No, I will make sure to be back if you ever need my help," responded Thor sincerely. As Steve disappeared around the corner, Thor looked around at the empty kitchen. He could this this place becoming a second home.

He was also suddenly aware of the irony that he, a prince of Asgard, was willing and almost eager to come back to Midgard and fight not just with but also underneath the leadership of a human. He smiled, a chuckle escaping his throat. Did he ever have stories to regale the Warriors Three with when he returned to Asgard.

—

That same day, before the sun had reached its zenith, a small group gathered in Central Park. Despite Thor's previous words, no farewells were actually exchanged. Just a few words, some jokes and rebuttals. Thor did not feel like this was the end of anything. On the contrary, he knew that he would be back for more adventures alongside the other Avengers. He gripped the handle of the container holding the Tesseract and motioned for his brother to grab the other end. He looked around the circle at Dr. Selvig and his fellow warriors. Nodding curtly, he twisted the handle and disappeared in a flash of blue.

The Avengers each headed their separate ways. They knew that if storm clouds were to once again brew on the horizon, lightning was never far off.

* * *

 **A/N:** A Thor-centric one-shot! I personally find it a bit hard to get a good grasp on his character so this was a challenging one but I'm fairly happy with it. What did you think? Any specific requests for more Thor one-shots?


	4. Reflections

**Reflections**

 _In which Natasha Romanoff, aka Black Widow, ex-KGB and current SHIELD agent, ponders what it means to be an Avenger and she's really cut out to work in a team. Also, girl-time with Pepper!_

The night skyline of New York stood out in a myriad of yellow and white lights against the dark velvet blue sky. It was the kind of backdrop that provided an almost perfect mirror surface for anyone happening to be walking by the expansive glass wall in the common room of the Avenger's Tower. Of course since it was the middle of the night, it wasn't exactly peak visiting times to the common room. Most nights therefore, the windows-turned-mirror reflected nothing.

In fact it was almost possible to swear that nothing moved in the halls of the tower at that moment. Only JARVIS, ever vigilant and awake, knew better when a barely perceptible shadow crossed through the large open doorway of the common room.

"Would you like the lights turned on, Ms. Romanoff?" Normally the lights went on automatically as soon as someone stepped inside a room but the AI calculated that bright lights at night might not be well received. He also dialled down the volume of his voice.

"Just the central ones, maybe. And dim them please."

The soft glow of several large circular ceiling lights made it possible to discern the various objects in the room and the figure that stood in the centre, arms crossed over her chest.

"It's impossible to sneak up on you, isn't it, J?" Natasha was barefoot, dressed in loose black pyjama pants and a large black hoodie.

"My system of surveillance cameras and motion detectors does make it an extremely unlikely possibility that anyone could catch me unawares," JARVIS replied. "If you happen to be hungry, a recent grocery delivery has ensured that the fridge is stocked."

"Nah, I'm good, thanks though. Just let me know if anyone is coming this way?"

"Certainly, Ms. Romanoff."

Natasha sighed and stepped further into the room. She had just flown into JFK International Airport earlier that evening and had decided to spend the night at the tower instead of making the drive to DC. Contrary to popular belief, SHIELD agents did not use a quinjet to fly all over the world. First of all, the agency did not actually have that many, and second, it was rather difficult to land one in secrecy without announcing to the entire world that a SHIELD agent had shown up. As such, Natasha was very used to the rigours of commercial flights. Economy seating too - there was no way a government agency was going to use its scraped dollars to upgrade its agents to business class.

Every time she stopped by, it seemed that the common room looked a little different. Her well-trained eyes caught sight of every new object or relocated piece of furniture. She made a mental note as to how the shifted couches would change her various escape routes should anything ever happen.

Tony Stark had not spared any expense in the renovation of the Avenger's Tower. The three floors located above the quinjet hanger had been converted into an open design concept area that was most often designated as the common room. Three different elevator shafts and one stairwell converged in the centre to form a large square pillar with a doorway in each side. Depending on which entrance you used, you stepped into a different part of the room. It was all connected and technically one room but several half-walls, short steps up or down, a stairway to the next level, or a well placed balustrade differentiated the various functions of the room. There was a state-of-the art kitchen that lead to a large table that doubled as a dining and meeting table. A variety of comfortable couches and armchairs were arranged in several different places creating larger and smaller spaces. A movie-viewing area had been set up a level above with a giant screen, surround sound and theatre-style seats. Pepper had firmly set her foot down when Tony was going to install a small lab in one corner a well.

Natasha noticed that an overstuffed chair and record player had been placed in a small nook beside a bookshelf filled with worn books and tattered record covers. Evidently Steve had been able to carve out a space of nostalgia for himself amidst all the new technology. Several darts lay on or around the salon table she was standing beside. A large dart board several metres away showed Clint had been practicing; a few other darts embedded into the walls and couches proved that someone else had failed spectacularly against the master archer. A scattering of tea cups with varying levels of tea still in them were evidence that Bruce still lived in the Tower. He had a habit of setting down his cup of tea - whether finished or not - and walking away from it.

"This is starting to become a bad habit," she murmured to herself as she picked up the darts on the floor and carried the abandoned tea cups into the kitchen. "Why am I always the one cleaning up?"

The red-headed agent was not very fond of messes. They provided a high number of risks and probable factors that she'd rather avoid. A clean, straight-forward space or situation was much easier to evaluate and navigate.

Leaving the kitchen, she suddenly found herself facing the eastern glass wall that looked over the city. It wasn't the starry-studded sky or the night-lit city that caught her attention though. Standing in front of her, looking straight her was a strange person. The figure was dressed in comfortable but practical clothing, red hair styled in a trimmed, curly bob and wore an expression that could almost be called relaxed and content.

The expression changed suddenly into one of intensive concentration and questioning: brows furrowed slightly, eyes narrowed and lips set in a straight line. This time, Natasha recognized herself in the reflection.

"But who was the other person?" she said quietly, a trickle of unease running down her back.

Natasha Romanoff was a person of many different facets and characters. Some were under the guise of different aliases, such as Natalie Rushman, and others were simply different personalities she could call up depending on the situation. Over the many years she had perfected different incarnations of herself that all came across as utterly convincing even though they were but a façade to hide her true self. The image she had just encountered though was new and Natasha did not like a part of her showing that she had not spent much time and effort into painstakingly constructing and practicing.

The reflection suddenly wore a fierce scowl and several Russian words escaped her mouth. "This damn place is having a bad effect on me," she continued in English.

She had never been considered as a possibility of Fury's initial Avenger's Initiative and had only found herself thrown into the group at the last moment because she was one of SHIELD's top agents and they were in desperate search for capable people to face off against a space-travelling, mind-control-sceptre-wielding, crazy god. She was genuinely surprised at how the others had accepted her with no questions asked, seemingly trusting her skills to get the job done and help them out.

She had been filled with such a desperate urge to fight and _do_ something; when a moment of clarity had managed to infiltrate her irrational thinking she had told herself that it was just one fight and then she could go back to the shadows and doing what she did best afterwards. She had failed to take into consideration the scrambling thoughts of one genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist. Things had rapidly spiralled out of her control when the Avengers hadn't been disbanded but had taken things into their own hands (mainly Tony's and Steve's) to keep the team operational should emergencies arise and give it a base to work out of. She had agreed to the suggestion knowing that her reluctance wouldn't have made a difference anyway and because this really was a lot nicer than her other safe houses.

"A safe house," Natasha repeated. "A safe house."

Was this what the Avenger's Tower had become? A safe house? A place where she could momentarily relax, let down her guard down and put away her constant looking-over-the-shoulder attitude? Had she actually come to trust in JARVIS' security monitoring, trust in the brain child of one of the least trustworthy people she was in regular contact with, instead of only herself? It was an extremely disconcerting thought and Natasha was severely tempted to slap herself several times except that she had seen what one of her slaps could do to someone and didn't really want to be on the receiving end of one.

Maybe the reflection that she had encountered was Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow, Avenger. The red-head nodded. She could work with that; the groundwork was apparently already there so it wouldn't be too hard to construct the rest of this new part of her. She thought about it for a second - she would include the impassiveness and snarky attitude of Natasha Romanoff, SHIELD agent, but would add a layer of a laid-back attitude and a more flirty sass than just straight up sarcasm. This new personality also had to let go of the work-alone attitude and embrace a more team-oriented mentality. That one was going to be more difficult, Natasha thought and then waved her hand vaguely. She could continue this tomorrow on the drive back to Washington; it would give her something to do other than her usual game of target-and-threat analysis of every single car speeding towards her on the freeway.

"Ms. Romanoff, I would like to inform you, as per your instructions, that Ms. Potts has just entered the number of this floor into the control pad of elevator number one," JARVIS suddenly interrupted.

Natasha's fingers twitched - the only sign of surprise - and spun quickly, heading towards the elevators. She was just rounding the corner to get out of sight of the first elevator's doors when they opened with a ding. Those things were damn fast, Natasha thought sourly.

Pepper stepped out and didn't seem at all surprised to find Natasha standing there, looking like she had just risen from the couch. "It's good to see you again," the strawberry-blond smiled. "Are you staying long this time?"

"Just the night," Natasha replied, mirroring Pepper's smile. "I have to report back to SHIELD so I'll be driving to DC tomorrow."

"Next time maybe," Pepper replied spritely. "I really do miss having you around sometimes, Natalie. Or Natasha, sorry. You were like a breath of fresh air amidst all the toxic testosterone I'm normally surrounded in."

Natasha chuckled with genuine feeling. "You seem to be handling yourself very well without me."

"Years of practice. That and my secret cocktail."

Natasha raised her eyebrows as Pepper headed straight towards the bar that was almost the same size as the kitchen. She dumped her bag unceremoniously on the counter and reached down to take of her five-inch heels with a sigh of relief. Grabbing a bottle of vodka and cranberry juice she filled up a large glass. Half and half.

Eyebrows raised even further, Natasha made her way over to the bar. "I thought you were more the olive-type of girl."

Pepper grinned conspiratorially. "Officially, I am. But when it's three in the morning after a long day of meetings and phone calls and last minute flights I like to indulge myself."

"Clearly."

"You want one too?"

"Can't say no to Stark's best vodka."

Pepper poured the two liquids into another glass with practiced ease and then put them away. Indulging herself was alright as long as it didn't lead to over-indulgence. That had happened once and the resulting next morning had been anything but pleasant. It was the sweet cranberry juice that always got to her.

The two women made their way over to a set of couches arranged across from each other in a little space set three steps down from the rest of the floor. Natasha sank cross-legged into the plushy cushions of the one as Pepper leaned against the arm rest of the other one and propped her feet up on the couch.

"I always meant to ask you," Pepper began. "How did you ever manage to hide a gun beneath that pencil skirt and skin-tight blouse you wore as my assistant?"

"I didn't," Natasha grinned. "Knives are a lot easier to hide and less bulky. But I did make sure to have a gun in place beneath your desk, just in case."

Pepper's eyes widened. "You attached a loaded gun beneath my desk?"

"And several rounds of spare ammo. It's still there actually. Could come in useful one day." The casual shrug of the red-head's shoulders made the CEO of Stark Industries shudder.

"I wouldn't even know how to use it."

"Tony never taught you?"

"He tried once, but it didn't turn out too well. Weapons and fighting give me unnatural levels of stress that tend to make me freak out."

"Yet you can calmly negotiate a business deal between the most ruthless of opponents. In French." Natasha's words carried a hint of admiration.

Pepper blushed. "That's different. Business stuff and legal things make me feel comfortable and in control."

"Ah, see that's what a few concealed weapons on my body in a room full of assassins does to me."

"You're a strange woman, Black Widow," Pepper smiled, raising her glass in a toast.

"And you are a most admirable counterpart, Pepper Potts, Chief Executive Officer," replied Natasha, lifting her glass in response.

The two women drank deeply, enjoying each other's presence. It was difficult sometimes, in their respective male-dominated fields, to find another woman that was equally ambitious and fearless and not relegated to a chair-warming career. It was even more difficult to open yourself and befriend such a woman, since you tended to become just as cold and job-focused as the men around you portrayed you to be.

"So how do you like being an Avenger?" Pepper asked after a moment of silence.

Natasha fiddled with her glass, not quite sure how to reply. She _liked_ Pepper, it was true, and that in and of itself was a great step forward for her, but she did _trust_ her yet.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want you," continued Pepper, when she noticed Natasha's hesitation.

"It's just . . . I guess I don't really knows what it means to be an Avenger. It's still all so new and we haven't really done much yet." The small shrug again. "And I'm not really used to working with a team so I'm not quite sure how feel."

"Well Tony thinks quite highly of you and I'm sure the others feel the same so I don't think you have to worry on the team aspect. It'll all come together eventually."

" _Tony_ thinks highly of me?" asked Natasha with real incredulity.

Pepper chuckled. "I think the fact that you were able to work undetected at Stark Industries as an undercover agent earned his respect. He doesn't trust you, no offence, but admires your skills. And other assets as well," she added dryly.

"Thanks, I think. He doesn't harbour any bad feelings or thoughts of revenge for not deeming him fit for the Avenger's Initiative?"

"I think the fact that he _is_ an Avenger now kind of negates that point. I'm sure he'll rub it in your face but Tony's not one to hold grudges."

"How magnanimous of him. I honestly don't know how you can stand being his girlfriend."

"There are many different layers to Tony Stark beneath the suit." Pepper nodded pointedly at the other woman. "As there are to you, I am sure. You two aren't all that different, you know."

Natasha barked a laugh. "Right. KGB-trained Russian super spy and assassin versus rich, spoiled American genius. Mirror images."

"I just see two people struggling to find themselves amidst a new identity and reconciling their past with the present," said Pepper simply.

"Have you always been that smart or has it rubbed off from Tony?"

"I've had a lot of experience dealing with people."

"So have I."

"But I've had to try and work _with_ them, not kill them."

"Fair point," Natasha conceded, finishing the last of her cocktail.

Pepper smiled and got up. She collected Natasha's glass and brought them over to the bar. "Well I'm going to get some sleep but thank you for the company. Like I said, there's far too much testosterone around here so you're more than welcome to come by more often."

"Maybe I will," Natasha replied, completely honest. "I'm starting to like it here."

"Good. Goodnight, Natasha."

"Night. And thank you, Pepper."

"Anytime."

The elevator doors shut silently behind Pepper and Natasha was once again alone in the room. A soft smile spread across her face. Maybe, maybe this version of Natasha could include space for a few friends. A novel concept for her.

She got up as well and headed towards the elevators. "You can turn off the lights now J. Thank you."

"Have a pleasant night, Ms. Romanoff."

"I think I will."

* * *

 **A/N:** A huge thanks to those who have already followed and favourite'd this fic! Let me know what you think so far!


	5. Really, more coffee?

**Really, more coffee?**

 _In which Bruce is fed up with the Avenger's coffee consumption and decides to take matters into his hands before the Other Guy puts the coffee plant on the list of extinct plants._

It was a typical morning in the Avenger's Tower. For Bruce Banner, that meant a wake-up call at 7:30 followed by an hour of morning yoga in his bamboo-panelled studio and then a quick shower before heading to the common room. He could have asked for Tony to build him a little kitchen on his floor but he figured this way he was at least forced to go to the common kitchen and interact with people.

No one was in the kitchen which didn't surprise him. Tony was rarely up at this hour unless it meant he hadn't slept the night before and the others tended to be in and out with no clear schedule. Recently he had begun to see Steve, Clint and Natasha more often as they frequently dropped by for a night or two after missions or made the drive up from Washington if they had a few days off. Bruce always had JARVIS let him know when one of them arrived and he made it a special point to spend an extra hour or two in the common hour. Often he just read or sat quietly listening to a conversation. Bit by bit he was getting accustomed to their steady presence in his life and actually starting to enjoy it.

On this particular morning though, he was about to wish them all a nice trip to somewhere permanently. Preferably somewhere extremely unpleasant. He had opened the far left cupboard of the kitchen which was dedicated to the making of beverages. Of course as far as the other Avengers were concerned, the word 'beverage' didn't actually exist in their vocabulary which was restricted to the single word 'coffee'. (Anything else was considered a 'drink' and could be located in the bar). Bruce immediately noticed two things on having opened the cupboard: one - someone had apparently bought out the local grocery store's stock on coffee beans, ground coffee, instant coffee and Keurig capsules; two - his single little box of tea bags had disappeared amidst the sudden infiltration of coffee.

"Really?" was the sole word that escaped the doctor's mouth, but it was loaded with a whole connotation of exasperation, frustration, annoyance and just a slight hint of anger.

Unfortunately this was not an isolated occurrence. Bruce had noticed a direct correlation between grocery trips and the mysterious disappearance of his tea. This time though, he had had quite enough of this nonsense; he noticed the inside of his nails tinged with green and figured he better do something about this quickly.

The resident doctor of the Avenger's Tower was an avid tea drinker. He appreciated the taste of a well-brewed cup of loose leaf tea and even more the calming aftereffects. The Other Guy was also a fan of the drink and was becoming quite the connoisseur as well. Bruce had tried coffee one time in a desperate attempt to stay awake and the results had not been pleasant. So both of them stuck to drinking tea.

Unfortunately, none of the others shared his affinity for tea. Occasionally Pepper would drink a cup at night but in the mornings she always needed her espresso shot to kickstart the day. Tony basically inhaled the stuff; Pepper once said that they could probably keep him alive with just an IV dripping a steady stream of coffee into his system. He also didn't care what he drank: dark, with cream and sugar, scalding hot or a day old, it all disappeared down his throat. Natasha had acquired a coffee grinder and French press and always made hers from scratch using the best beans only. Clint and Steve used the Keurig machines (there were two of them, located beneath the cupboard) because it was the fastest way possible to make coffee and a careful observer could pick up on their respective moods by what kind of capsule they chose. Thor, well Thor hadn't been around in a while, but he'd generally order someone to bring him a cup. He did order nicely though and always said please and thank you.

All in all it was not easy being a tea drinker in the tower. He always felt excluded when two or more of them were in the kitchen at the same time and started bickering about which was the best coffee and whenever it came to space issues in the cupboard, coffee was always given priority over tea. Bruce figured it was time that someone did something about this situation.

"Jarvis, is there anything floating around the tower that could be used to construct a shelf of sorts?" he asked the AI.

"Something adequate may be found on floor seven which is currently being used as storage space. You will found the necessary tools on floor ten," JARVIS replied.

Bruce nodded and headed towards the elevator. He was back shortly with a power drill, some screws and two pieces of wood that matched the existing cupboards. He assumed they were actually leftover shelves from when the kitchen was being installed. He had also found a few metal braces for mounting shelves and figured he should be able to figure this out despite not being the world's most experienced handyman.

There was some wall space beside the aforementioned coffee cupboard that was sufficient for the size of the shelves Bruce carried. He eyeballed the wall and drilled a hole into the drywall with a second underneath it. He then took the shelf to measure out a more or less straight line and set the tip of the drill against the wall.

"If you are attempting to achieve a straight line, your measurement is slightly off," JARVIS suddenly interrupted.

"Really?"

"I recommend that you set the drill a half centimetre higher."

"That is too high. Slightly slower."

Bruce grumbled but complied with the computer's admonishments. He made the hole and was about to start on the second one a bit lower when a wild screech almost made him drop the drill.

"Are you _destroying_ my precious tower?"

Taking a deep breath, Bruce turned slowly to face an incredulous-looking Tony. He took another deep breath. Being suddenly surprised from behind was never a good idea for his inner calm and facing an outraged Tony Stark was even worse.

"Just some simple modifications," he replied.

"You're making _holes_ in my wall."

"I need a shelf for my tea."

"Isn't that what the cupboard is for?"

Bruce wordlessly pointed at the cupboard that was open and overfilling with coffee.

Tony echoed the gesture. "There's tons of stuff to drink right there!"

"Tons of coffee. I drink tea, Tony.

"But . . . but you a made a _hole_ in my wall! Are they even lined up?"

"Jarvis is making sure they're straight."

Tony didn't look convinced but he didn't say anything, just sat down and watched the doctor get back to work. Bruce made the last hole and then screwed the metal bracing onto the shelf before setting it up against the drilled holes. It matched up perfectly.

"Thanks, J," he said as he screwed the shelf onto the wall. He proceeded to do the same with the other piece of wood and then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

"Not bad there, doc," Tony spoke up. "But please refrain from making any further modifications to my tower, if you don't mind."

Bruce nodded. "What are you doing up already anyway?"

"I thought I felt something off with the tower so I came to investigate."

"You sensed me drilling a hole all the way in your bedroom?"

"I'm very possessive and protective with my stuff."

Bruce just shook his head. Some quirks of Tony were better not asked about. "Well, I'm going to head to the store to buy some tea."

"Want company?"

"I'm trying to go for inconspicuous, no offence Tony."

"I can do that."

Bruce shook his head again and walked out, carrying the tools with him. "I'll see you in the labs later. I've got some new calculations that we could try out with that new project."

An hour and a half later, a figure laden down with shopping bags reappeared in the kitchen. Bruce carefully took out his purchases: a couple decorative tins, various satchels containing loose leaf tea, some boxes with tea bags, a strainer and a kettle. He washed and dried the tins and then emptied the loose leaf tea into them. Along with the other boxes he arranged them all on his two shelves. There was a selection of black, green, white, oolong and herbal tea. Some for waking up in the morning, others for relaxing and a few with restorative or medicinal purposes. The kettle was placed beside the Keurig machines and the strainer laid beside it.

Needless to say that the good doctor was pleased with himself that morning and assumed that he had positively adjusted the coffee/tea disequilibrium.

Unfortunately, he underestimated the addictive dependency of the other Avengers on coffee.

—

"Why is there never any coffee in this place?"

"Really?"

Bruce was sitting at the island table sipping his morning tea and reading a article in a science journal. Standing in front of the opened cupboard with a fierce scowl on his face was Clint. He was glaring in a such a way that you could almost see the darts flying out of his eyes.

"Yeah, I mean look at this junk." He grabbed a handful of capsules and chucked them blindly behind him. They all landed in the sink. "What even is a caramel mick . . . mocky . . . machachacha whatever? It's not like anyone drinks this girly-sounding shit."

"Steve drinks one whenever Tony's been giving him lessons on 21st century slang and pop culture. And it's Italian."

"Whatever man. It's still not coffee." He threw away another handful of the offending capsules.

"There's instant coffee, some ground coffee and a filter or Natasha's French press," Bruce offered helpfully.

Clint shook his head violently. "Toxic poison, takes too long and nobody, repeat _nobody_ touches Natasha's stuff."

The doctor raised his mug. "I have tea?" He said uncertainly.

"Tea? Like scalding water with a dried leaf floating around?"

"A highly recommended alternative to scalding water with crushed pits."

Clint looked at Bruce like he had just sprouted a second head. "I just want some coffee," he whined.

"There are several coffee shops in close proximity to the tower and also a grocery store where you can buy more capsules."

"Do I look like I'm a billionaire."

Bruce shrugged, closed the journal and got up, leaving his almost-finished mug on the island. "Or you can go without your daily intake of brown sludge."

Clint shuddered. "Coffee shops you said?"

The next morning, Bruce walked into an empty kitchen and headed towards his tea shelf. He suddenly stopped short, adjusted his glasses, took them off, cleaned them, and put them on again. Eight boxes of medium-strength, regular brew Keurig capsules occupied the shelves, precariously stacked on top of each other. A post-it note had been stuck to the lower shelf. In upper case block letters was written: _CLINT'S COFFEE. DO NOT TOUCH OR YOU WILL BE TURNED INTO A LIVING PINCUSHION_.

"Really?"

A quick search of the vicinity revealed that the previous contents of the shelf had been thrown beside the garbage underneath the sink. Jostled but unharmed. Going through his breathing exercises, Bruce took down the capsule boxes. He stacked them on the ground beside the counter and stuck the sticky note on the top one. After rearranging the shelves to how they appeared previously, he grabbed a sticky note and the pen he always carried behind his ear. In his neat cursive script he wrote: _Tea Shelf of Bruce Banner_. On brief reflection, he added a second line: _Please refrain from removing objects. Coffee is located in the cupboard to your right._

Again, the doctor looked quite pleased with himself, thinking that he had rectified the situation. A slight aura of uncertainty hovered in the air though. He was hopeful that with the sign everything should be alright but he was also smart enough to realize that his tea leanings faced very talented and skillful foes.

—

"Do we have any of those caramel cup thingies?" The blond super soldier asked a few days later.

JARVIS had informed Bruce that Steve was staying the night at the tower so he'd made his way to the common room a few hours ago. He was sitting in a comfortable armchair with soft opera music playing in the background and reading a book. He had a clear view into the kitchen and could see Steve with his nose in the cupboard and rummaging around wildly.

"You mean the caramel macchiato Keurig capsules?"

"Did someone drink them all? There were still lots when I was here last."

Bruce hesitated. "Ummm, maybe talk to Clint?"

"But he said he didn't like them. And neither does Natasha."

Concentrating on his book, Bruce elected to remain quiet. He didn't really want to be blamed for starting a full-scale war between Steve and Clint because of a caramel macchiato. Meanwhile the super soldier continued to search around in the cupboard, dumping half its contents on the shelf.

"Found one!" He shouted triumphantly, holding a capsule that he had located behind several bags of coffee beans.

"Do you think if we made some kind of chore list people would clean up from time to time?" he asked suddenly while the machine brewed his macchiato. "I think that would be rad."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh Tony was teaching me some new expressions and I thought I should start using some of them."

"Word of advice, from someone who works with Tony on a regular basis?"

Steve grabbed his coffee and sat down across from Bruce.

"Ignore about half of what he says and take the rest with a heavy grain of salt. In general, just do what you've always done unless someone else happens to tell you the same thing as Tony. But if it's just him, it's probably not that important."

"So I don't need vocabulary improvement lessons?"

"Well I mean you can listen to what he says and it might help you understand a couple of punk kids that you run into, but there's no need to actually use any of the vocabulary in a sentence. Unless we use it too."

"Thanks, Bruce. To be honest, I really don't understand what Tony's talking about half of the time."

"Nobody does, Steve, not even Pepper. I wouldn't let it worry you too much."

Steve nodded but didn't look convinced. "I just feel so . . . unprepared sometimes."

Bruce sighed inaudibly and bit back another 'really?'. Somehow the fact that there was a 'Dr.' in front of his name always seemed to lead to people confiding personal issues and expecting some kind of help. He _really_ wasn't that kind of a doctor.

"It's all relative. I'm sure if you put Tony or myself into some kind of an art class of sorts we'd feel completely unprepared too. You might not be at the same level as the rest of the 21st century yet but you'll get there."

"I hope so. I've started making a list of things that people say I need to catch up on and I'm slowly working through it."

"A good idea. How are things at SHIELD?"

"Well it feels good to be back in action, you know? I've been getting more missions lately too."

"Do you work with Clint and Natasha frequently?"

"Not really, actually. A lot of my missions are heavy-hitting extractions or raids that I carry out with the Strike Team. Nat and Clint do mainly super secret spy stuff."

"I guess Captain America and undercover is a bit hard to pull off."

"You have no idea," Steve laughed. "At least I get up early enough for my morning run that I don't come across too many people."

Steve finished his macchiato and got up. "Good to run into you, Bruce. I'm going to put in an hour or so at the gym, unless you want to join?"

Bruce laughed dryly. "Thanks, but I think my version of exercise is a little different than yours."

"Well the door to the gym is always open," replied Steve with a smile as he headed out.

After another hour sunk in his book, Bruce turned off the music and got up. He eyed the coffee mess on the kitchen counter - capsules were strewn around and a big of coffee beans had fallen down and spilled its contents all over. After standing there for several moments with eyebrows raised, he shook his head and turned away.

"Not my mess," he murmured and left the room.

—

The next morning, Bruce walked sleepily into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. He had had a hard time falling asleep and even his daily yoga routine couldn't shake the feeling of tiredness. He was craving a green tea with ginger and peppercorn to give him a bit of a kick.

"Really?" He came to a shock still stand in front of his tea shelf and grabbed the edge of the island to keep himself upright.

Someone (his suspicions rested on Steve) had cleaned up the mess that had been left by the super soldier on the counter the day before. Albeit this particular person's definition of cleaning up had involved taking the entire dumped contents and throwing them on the tea shelf, in the process of which most of Bruce's tea had ended up either on the floor and buried beneath coffee.

The tips of his fingers turned a threatening shade of green. Looking at his hands, Bruce suddenly had an idea. He quickly rearranged the tea and coffee back to their respective places and then grabbed a second sticky note.

His hand shook slightly as he grabbed the pen so his usual neat handwriting turned into a messy, but still legible scrawl: _**Hulk's tea. Touch and get smashed.**_

Needless to say that from then on, Bruce's tea shelf was left untouched and he could finally enjoy his freshly steeped tea in complete and utter peace.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'd originally planned something much different for this chapter but then this awkward attempt at humorous writing came out. Thoughts? Did it make you laugh?


	6. The Arrow Guy

**The Arrow Guy**

 _In which Clint does some last-minute adjustments and bargaining with JARVIS to foolproof his floor and make sure his safely-guarded secrets are kept secret._

Clint Barton stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the Avenger's Tower. He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans, an old leather jacket, a baseball cap and wearing sunglasses. A small duffle bag was slung over his shoulder. He had just successfully completed his latest mission in Bogota, Colombia and while he was checking his private email at the airport he had received notice from Tony that his floor had been completed and was ready to be occupied. He decided to buy a ticket to New York instead of directly to Washington in order to swing by and see it. He had not held back one bit when he gave his input for what he wanted and when nothing seemed too outrageous to the billionaire, he just kept adding whatever came into his mind.

Now though, standing beneath the sweltering New York heat and breathing in the toxic combination of exhaust fumes and other cosmopolitan city smells he was suddenly hesitant. He knew that if he stepped through those wide glass doors he would be starting a new chapter in his life. Was he ready for that?

"Here goes nothing," he said, adjusted his duffle bag and walked up the walkway towards the tower. The first set of glass doors slid open soundlessly but his trained ears picked up the hum of a computer scanning him as he walked towards the second set of doors.

"Welcome to the Avenger's Tower, Mr. Barton," JARVIS greeted him as the second doors opened as well.

"What number is my floor again?"

"Your apartments and training centre have been arranged on floor forty-seven. If you proceed to the elevator on your right, I will bring you directly to it."

Clint nodded and entered the elevator. He kept his sunglasses on in order to hide his eyes which were busy moving from side to side and taking everything in. It wasn't until he stepped out into the semi-circular space that awaited him beyond the elevator doors that he took off his sunglasses. A high-domed ceiling spanned across the space far above him and a length of wood paneling about five feet high from the floor ran around the room. The rest was painted an off-white and small globular lights spaced at regular intervals provided lots of illumination.

Walking towards the second door on the left, Clint waited for the retinal scan to confirm his identity and then the heavy wooden door slid to the left and let him enter. He stopped just inside the door.

"Not bad, Stark, not bad," he said aloud, dropping the duffel bag on the floor.

The room had an equally high ceiling as the entrance lobby - almost two stories high. The opposing, south-facing fall was slanted slighted inwards and was one huge window-skylight. More wood panelling and several wooden rafters near the top provided for an almost rustic feel. Hanging down from the rafter next to the glass wall was a rope ladder with wooden rungs and a giant hammock outfitted with a few pillows and a light blanket. There was no bed in the room but several leather couches and armchairs, a 50-inch flatscreen TV, a (rather large) mini fridge and a table.

"Is the surround sound system installed as well?" Clint asked the room.

"Of course, Mr. Barton. Would you like me to play some music?" JARVIS answered.

"You have my country playlist, right? Something classic."

Instantly the first guitar riffs of Johnny Cash's _I Walk the Line_ filled the room. Humming along quietly, Clint surveyed the room with a trained eye. He took in the couches arranged around the TV and frowned. They were too close; there wasn't enough room to maneuver around comfortable. He took off his jacket and got to work, muscles straining as he moved the furniture around.

First, the small wooden table with the TV was moved to the left wall of the room and then the couches and armchairs were arranged in a large semi-circle from beside the door, along the right wall and then into the middle of the room dividing it in half. The TV was now a lot farther away but Clint nodded happily. Sitting too close to the screen just ruined the eyes anyway and he wasn't too keen on losing even a degree of his excellent eyesight. A low salon table and a few circular leather cushions that could be used as foot rests or seats were scattered in the space between the couches.

There was a lot of hesitation as to where to put the mini fridge. Because the couches and armchairs now encompassed a larger space, about half of the seating places wouldn't have good access to the fridge, no matter where he put it. He finally set it into the corner of the room.

"I should ask for another one," Clint murmured. He preferred that all possible seating locations had equal advantages and because of the limited beer access, that was no longer the case.

Next, Clint walked to the back half of the room. Whereas the first half was carpeted, the floor here was hardwood. It was also fairly empty. The remaining space on the right wall was occupied by a large wall closet. The archer's first thought was that there was no way he was ever going to need even a quarter of the space for his clothes but then realized that he would be able to fill it up with all his bows, arrows, quivers and other equipment. The thought pleased him enormously - it was always rather hazardous having his specialty arrows littered across a room, especially the explosive ones. Even the normal ones were rather sharp; he had once scraped his thigh across an arrow laying in the wrong spot at the wrong time and hadn't been very pleased with the encounter.

The large table was pushed against the left wall and a solitary, wooden chair placed underneath.

"Finally a decent workplace," commented Clint, running his hand across the smooth surface. He was all too used to uncomfortable, cramped spaces which weren't very conducive to proper spy work. Most SHIELD agents considered the master archer a bit old fashioned, but Clint preferred to work with paper. Lots of paper, and photographs, and charts and notes scribbled on random bits of everything. Having something visual in front of him helped him to concentrate and think. Also, once a mission was completed and the necessary paperwork filled out, he was always able to celebrate with a little bonfire of accomplishment that gave him immense satisfaction as well as destroying any evidence of his presence.

Ducking beneath the table, Clint smiled. When he had requested a stainless steal garbage container, Tony had written back a very long and terse note that such a ridiculous request required an unnecessary amount of customization and cost. But the billionaire had acquiesced anyway.

Three objects had been placed on the table: a laptop, a smart phone and a folded piece of paper. The recognizable Stark Industries logo was clearly visible in the lower right hand corner of the laptop's black surface as well as at the top of the phone, marking them as pieces of technology that were not available on the public market. Only SI employees, and apparently the Avengers, had access to Tony Stark's personally-designed computers, laptops and phones.

Clint reached for the piece of paper and unfolded it. He recognized Tony's scrawling handwriting. _You better be happy with all the effort and cost I put into your floor. The amount of button clicking I had to do to special order all your customized shit was exhausting. If you break anything - you pay for it. And DOn'T YOU DARE poke any arrow holes into my walls, Legolas. The tech is yours. Completely untraceable and secure except from me of course, so don't think you can watch any porno without me knowing! Also, JARVIS is always watching._

Beneath Tony's heartwarming welcome message, another person had added a small note. _Welcome to the Avenger's Tower, Clint. This floor is completely yours so make yourself at home. If you have any concerns or additional wishes, feel free to send me an email. The common room is located on the 50th floor and is also yours to use. See you around. Pepper (PS: I took the liberty of filling the fridge with Tony's preferred brand of beer, If you prefer a different kind, let me know)_

"Thank you, Pepper. You're the best," said Clint, making a mental note to bring back a little thank-you souvenir from his next mission.

He set down the note and headed back towards the couches, plunking himself down on the nearest sofa and withdrawing a standard looking old flip phone from his duffel bag. He flipped it open and was about to press a button when he paused.

"Jarvis, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Will you answer it?"

"If the answer lies with within my programmed regulations I will provide all the necessary information to satisfy your request."

Clint tilted his head to the side and thought about the answer for a moment. He shrugged and continued. "How secure is this room?"

"The most advanced Stark technology is being used to secure and monitor the tower at all times. You saw the retinal scan yourself which is the only way someone will be able to access the rooms of your floor."

"And I assume that the entire floor is being monitored by security cameras?"

"Yes."

"Both audio and visual?"

"That is also correct."

"Is there any way to shut them off?"

"Certainly, but that answer would violate several of my security protocols."

"Is it really necessary that there are cameras in my rooms as well? After all, nobody can get in."

"It's a standard safety procedure."

"I didn't ask for it though."

"Like I just mentioned, it's a standard safety procedure."

Clint sighed and walked over to the fridge. He exclaimed in delight when he saw that Pepper hadn't been kidding when she wrote that she had filled it with beer. _Make that two souvenirs_ , he told himself. Grabbing a bottle, he twisted open the cap and flicked it into the garbage bin beneath the table. He sat down.

"I just don't think it's necessary, especially if I'm here. It's a highly uncomfortable feeling knowing you're being watched and recorded."

"Perhaps if you talk to Mr. Stark . . ." JARVIS offered.

No," Clint interrupted. "I don't want to bother him or make him think that I'm trying to keep secrets. Which of course I'm not. I just like my privacy."

He took a long swig. "Can't you just disable the cameras?"

"I don't believe my protocols allow me to."

"Not all of them - the ones in the lobby are fine. Just those in the rooms. They're a little superfluous I think."

"Mr. Barton, I'm trying to tell you that . . ."

"AT least when I'm here. Say a sync with the doors opening after the retinal scan and a temporary disabling of the cameras until I leave again."

"That's hardly . . ." The AI was beginning to sound exasperated.

"I'm not asking for much, Jarvis. And I know that you can do it. I've heard Stark brag that you're more the boss around here than he is."

This time JARVIS sounded slightly smug, if that was possible for a computer. "Flattery won't override my protocols."

"But there is a way to override them." Clint pointed out, gesturing triumphantly with his beer bottle. "I'm relying on your good sense and team spirit. I am, after all, a SHIELD agent with level seven security clearance and a full-fledged Avenger. I'm really not asking for all that much."

"You already asked for much when you sent in your wish list for this floor."

Clint grinned. "Is that a snappy comeback I here? From a computer program made up of ones and zeroes? Stark must be rubbing off on you. But I think you're avoiding the point. Will you override the surveillance system and turn it off while I'm here, for the sake of my privacy and comfort?"

There was a long pause. "Very well. I will accede to your wishes, Mr. Barton. "The cameras will be temporarily disabled whenever you enter one of your rooms."

"Thank you, Jarvis."

"Of course that doesn't mean that I won't still be able to monitor your activities."

"I trust in your discretion to only reveal such information if someone specifically asks you."

"That is well within my standard protocol regime."

"Good then. That will be all."

"I wish you a pleasant stay, Mr. Barton."

Clint grinned. "And that's why I'm still the best," he murmured quietly. "Not even a computer can withstand my interrogation skills."

Highly pleased with himself, Clint finished his beer, grabbed the flip phone and climbed the swaying ladder to the hammock. Settling himself in comfortably, he covered himself with the blanket. He's searching eyes had already discovered the location of three hidden cameras and he wouldn't be surprised to find out there were more. Despite JARVIS' words, he wasn't going to be careless; the blanket would cover him from sight and muffle any sounds as well.

For despite having told JARVIS that he didn't have any secrets. he did have one that he would die for in order to keep it. No one, not even SHIELD, knew about the person, or rather people, that would pick up if he dialled. He had purposely bought an old, untraceable phone for this purpose and didn't have any numbers saved in the contact list. Not that he needed to write this number down anyway. After all, it was his own home number.

"Hi honey, how are you? How are the kids?" Clint's voice was suddenly void of all tension and filled with warmth and lightheartedness.

 _We're all good. The kids are excited for summer vacation. They've been asking if you'll be home for a bit too._

"I'll see what I can do. Maybe I can squeeze out a few weeks of vacation."

 _They owe you probably a year's worth of overtime anyway now, don't they?_

Clint laughed. "Unfortunately the word 'overtime' isn't in SHIELD's vocabulary. But I can pull a few strings."

 _Please do. We miss you. I miss you._

"I miss you too. Hey what do you feel about a little getaway weekend in New York? Just the two of us?"

 _New York? Does this have something to do with your avenging?_

"You know how I told you that Stark was giving each of us a whole floor at his tower? Well mine's all finished and I've just moved in. Well, dumped my duffel bag on the floor and drank a beer."

 _I think that pretty much counts as moving in for you. How do you like it?_

"Well, let's just say Stark didn't spare any expenses. And I've just managed to score a negotiation with his security robot to turn off cameras when I'm in a room. So complete privacy."

 _But I'm sure there's cameras at the front door, no? How do you expect me to pass those?_

"Are you sure you're not a secret agent of some kind, Laura?"

 _You've taught me well, Hawkeye._

Clint chuckled, then turned serious again. "I just, I don't know. I feel like I can trust these guys, you know? They're not SHIELD agents besides Nat, and she already knows anyway. We're a group of people thrown together by random circumstances but when we fought together . . . I've never felt more connected. Like we actually really were a team."

 _I'm going to leave the decision to you, Clint, but I don't want you to rush into anything. Trust can be relative._

"I taught you that too, didn't I?" Clint asked wryly.

 _I just feel like you should get to know them a bit better, that's all._

"Well we might just get lots of time to do that in the near future. Apparently the New York still isn't quite over yet. Some of its shadier citizens managed to get hold of some of the Chitauri weapons and they're starting to pop up. Fury wants us to handle it."

 _Is it really necessary that you have to be an Avenger too? Isn't being a SHIELD enough?_

"Are you saying I can't handle it?"

 _Of course not. It's just . . . I worry about you. I can get up in the morning to an empty bed beside me because I know you're coming back. If I didn't have that to hold on to . . . I don't know what I'd do._

"You know that you and the kids are what gives me the strength to keep going, Laura. And yo will get me through all of this Avenger stuff as well. I . . . I owe them. They didn't refuse me even after I had been used as Loki's tool. I can't just turn my back on them."

There was a long pause.

 _I can understand that. And I will always be here for you, no matter what. Just be careful, okay?_

"Always. Say hi to the kids when they get back from school."

 _I will. I love you._

"Love you too."

The blanket was thrown to the side and Clint emerged with a pensive, almost melancholic look on his face.

Bit by bit, the sardonic, calculating look of Hawkeye appeared again. Every time he visited or talked to his family he became more and more aware of how much Laura and the kids had changed him What used to be the real him had now turned into a mask that he used to hide the caring, protective father and husband that he had become. What he had been trying to tell Laura was that he felt like he could truly be himself with the Avengers.

Maybe she was right though. Maybe he did need to get to know them better. And figure out his role. He sometimes felt like a useless hanger-on if he let his doubts overwhelm him. He second-guessed his loyalty - wondered if anything of Loki's mind control as still there.

"Time will tell, I guess," said Clint to himself, summarizing his thoughts. "In the meantime, I'll have another beer and I think there's a Bears game on tonight."


	7. Shadows of the Past

**Shadows of the past**

 _In which the man out of time tries to find an anchor to keep him grounded in the present and stop himself from shipwrecking on the reef of memories._

The gym walls echoed with the rhythmic punching of fists versus a punching bag. It had been a smart decision on the part of Tony Stark to install soundproof walls on the gym floor, since the reverberations came at super human speed and strength.

Steve Rogers was oblivious to the sounds around him provoked by the repeated jabs of muscled arms. Right arm: jab, recoil. Left arm: clench fist, jab, recoil. Repeat. Over and over until the continuous motion dominated all thought and he entered a state of calm meditation.

He should thank Stark for the new punching bag, he reflected. It was filled with a kevlar-type material of Stark's own invention and a heavy-duty reinforced chain. Super soldier-proof, Tony had claimed with a proud smile. Steve wondered briefly if he should put that claim to the test and exhort his full strength. On second thought, he continued at the present rhythm, simply grateful that the bag had held for more than ten minutes. The bags at SHIELD Headquarters weren't so lucky. SHIELD's equipment was good, but not Tony-Stark grade, super-soldier-proof good. Maybe he could bring one of these with him to Washington.

The beating continued.

 _I spend a lot of time in this spot_ , the super soldier thought to himself as he focused on the repetitive movements. It wasn't even that he really needed the workout - it was just his preferred method of trying to drown out the pounding of thoughts in his head. Ever since he had woken up from the ice he had taken to escaping to the gym. It worked, for a short while.

"If you ever get tired of punching a stuffed dummy and want a real opponent, let me know," a voice challenged.

Steve turned to face Natasha Romanoff, dressed in a sports bra and workout leggings, hands on her hips and a mocking smile on her face. He gave her a once-over, eyebrows raised. "You think you're up for it?" he asked, responding to her challenge. He was indeed a little done with the punching bags and sparring with the red-haired master spy and assassin was sure to prove an interesting change to his routine

Natasha didn't bother to reply. With a sway of her hips, she turned and walked over to a corner of the gym covered in a large mat. Steve grinned and followed. She was clearly in top-shape - her tight-fitting clothes hugged her toned muscles in a very flattering manner. The man born in 1920 had long gotten used to the fact that fashion had changed considerable during his time in the ice. The rather revealing clothes of the 21st century had come as a bit of a shock at first but he could hardly complain at the current view in front of him. He thought about what Peggy might have looked like in Natasha's workout clothes and for a moment he was swept back into a time long past

"Focus up, solider!" A sharp voice brought him back to the present and Peggy's soft brunette curls dissolved into the fiery red tendrils of the master spy in front of him.

In reply, Steve let loose a soft blow aimed at her stomach that she avoided easily with a step to the side. She responded with a feint to the right and then attacked from the left but was unable to catch Steve off guard. He managed to grab her left wrist but she countered with a full body twist and freed herself from his grasp. They faced each other again for a brief second before moving forward at the same time. The sparring continued - sometimes a full out mixed martial arts battle and other times a vicious body-to-body grappling contest on the floor.

After a while of fighting in silence with neither one able to capitalize on an advantage for a long time, Steve suddenly began to chuckle. He dodged a kick aimed at his shin and stood back, bursting into peals of laughter. A genuine smile had appeared on Natasha's face as well. Both of them were dripping with sweat and knew that they would both wake up with a few sore spots the next morning.

"You're good," Steve complimented. "I don't think anyone's ever been able to hold out against me for that long."

""Thats a definite exaggeration. You were holding back on all your punches."

"Well I didn't exactly want to knock you straight out. Tends to ruin the point of a good sparring session."

"Much longer and I would have had to concede defeat though. My endurance is definitely not a match to yours."

"How often do you have to concede defeat?" Steve asked curiously, throwing her a towel from a shelf on the wall and grabbing one for himself.

""Basically never," Natasha shrugged. "I try to avoid fights I can't win."

"And in training?"

"I always win, of course." She smiled arrogantly. "There's a reason I'm the best."

Steve smiled back. He wasn't always sure how to interact with the mysterious Natasha Romanoff but he appreciated her straight forward and fearless manner. In fact, that was the one thing that he was grateful for in regards to all the Avengers. They all treated him like an equal and none of them ever had the typical awe-struck expression on their faces when talking to him that most people with whom he came in contact always had. It was a most reassuring feeling, Steve thought, as he followed the redhead out of the gym and towards the elevator.

"Coffee?" he asked her when they entered the kitchen.

"No thanks, I already had one when I woke up. I usually make a banana cashew smoothie after a workout?"

"A what?" Steve stared in horrid fascination as Natasha threw a variety of ingredients into a food processor, mixed it all into bland-looking sludge and poured into a tall glass. "That looks like the tasteless muck we had to eat in the army."

The redhead leaned back casually against the counter taking a sip from the glass. "I can promise you that it tastes a lot better." She handed him the glass. "Try it."

Hesitantly, with a very suspicious gleam in his eyes, Steve cautiously raised the glass to his lips. His expression changed instantly. "You know, it does taste quite nice. The texture isn't quite my thing though."

Natasha shrugged slightly with one shoulder, taking the glass back.

"Are you staying here long?" Steve asked after a lengthy pause.

"Nah. I have to head down to DC for a new mission report later today. You?"

"I got a few days off. Figured I could take advantage of Stark's new punching bags. And I much prefer running through Central Park then doing rounds around the National Mall."

"Yeah Central Park is nice. Easy to go unnoticed or observe others."

"Do you look at everything though a spy's eyes?" Steve asked curiously.

"Occupational hazard." Natasha shrugged again. "It's become a permanent habit that was entrenched at a very early age."

"You were trained by the KGB right? Your file didn't really have many details beside that."

"Because those are the only details that are necessary."

"I respect your personal space Natasha, but secrets on a team are never a good thing."

The master spy barked a short, humourless laugh. "My secrets keep secrets from my secrets, Captain. Are you always this nosy?"

The captain looked slightly hurt. "I'm responsible for my team and don't want to see anything tear it apart."

Natasha turned to head towards the door, looking back over her shoulder. "No offence Steve but this isn't the army. Might be better if you stopped thinking that way."

"Occupational hazard," Steve threw back at her as she left the room. "It's become a permanent habit that was entrenched at a very early age."

Silence fell across the kitchen. The super soldier stared blankly at the cupboards, his eyes following the pattern of the wood grain. It was always like this with the other Avengers, he reflected. One moment he was completely in sync with them and the next they made him aware how out of place he truly was in the 21st century. He sighed and walked over to his vintage armchair. Normally after a workout he ate a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast but his conversation with Natasha had completely ruined his appetite. He turned on his record player and the mellow sound of a saxophone wafted through the air.

A deep hollow made itself felt somewhere high in his chest. It wasn't that he missed his old life; in fact he was beginning to feel quite comfortable in this modern age. It was the people that he grew up with, the friends that he had made in the army that he greatly missed. Peggy, Bucky, the other Howling Commandos. Steve inhaled deeply to prevent a tear from welling up in his eyes. He tried to think of the things he was thankful for, tried to focus on all the positive changes in his life but his treacherous thoughts kept turning back to all the things and people he had lost.

"You've got good taste in music," a bright voice interrupted his sombre musings.

Steve's head jerked up and he saw the slim outline of Pepper's back facing him, her strawberry blond hair pulled up high into a tight bun. "Good morning, Pepper. I didn't hear you come in," he confessed.

Pepper turned around, eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. "I can't imagine a super soldier being caught off guard easily. What's on your mind?"

The blond lowered his eyes and turned his head away. "Just . . . lost in memories I guess."

Understanding and compassion filled with Pepper's clear blue eyes. "You feel left out. Because they all went on to live their lives without you. And now it's like you're caught between worlds. Between the old and the new."

This time it was Steve who looked up in surprise. "That's . . . yeah. That's it. How did you know? Even I couldn't have put it into words."

Pepper smiled. "I've had plenty of experience reading into the brooding silences of superheroes. You're not alone in this Steve; just give it a little more time."

"That's just it," Steve laughed bitterly. "I've had too much time already. I should be dead, or at least close to it. Instead I've lived the least amount of years of all the Avengers although I was born a couple decades before all of them. That's just messed up."

Pepper briefly glanced at her watch before she sat down on the armrest of a couch close to Steve's corner, smoothing down her navy pencil skirt. "I don't mean to belittle the issues you're going through, but I can promise you that all of the Avengers' lives can be considered 'messed up'. Not just yours."

The captain looked up at Pepper and smiled half-heartedly. "I guess it's pretty pathetic that I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself."

"No, no it's not," Pepper reached over and patted his shoulder. "I've seen Tony reach level Pathetic before and it wasn't pretty. You're still a far way off."

"That's good right?"

"Yes. As long as you don't continue down to that level. You'll be fine, Steve. You've got a team."

 _But not_ my _team_ , Steve thought with a returning hint of despair as an image of the Howling Commandos flashed before his eyes.

Pepper seemed to read his thoughts. "They _will_ become a team. You'll see." She stood up and smoothed back her immaculate hair. "Well I'm heading out now. You have a good day."

"Thanks Pepper. You too."

After a few more minutes of listening to the soft jazz music, Steve turned off the record player. He couldn't just sit here without doing anything. Sitting led to thinking and thinking led to mulling over things that once were but could never be again. He pounded the armrests in frustration, tempted to head back to the gym and shut himself off to everything but the sounds of fists meeting a punching bag. He got up before he pounded his armchair into oblivion and took the elevator to his floor.

He attempted to read but after a few pages he threw the book down in frustration. Someone, he assumed the ever-thoughtful Pepper, had filled a small bookshelf with autobiographies of former WWII soldiers. It was a nice gesture, but the former soldier himself wanted to familiarize himself with his new world, not try and escape into his old one.

He found himself back in the elevator staring blankly at the rows of shining buttons.

"Where would you like the elevator to take you, Mr Rogers?"

Steve jumped, then relaxed when he recognized JARVIS' voice. "I don't really know," he mumbled, looking around for someone to direct his voice.

"Why don't you go by the lab and pay Mr. Stark a visit. He's looking particularly lonely as well and is bound to blow something again if he continuous to be bored."

"Yeah sure, thanks. That's a good idea." The elevator began to descend. "Do I really look 'particularly lonely'?"

"I have several thousand facial variations of different expressions recorded and your current one is a 96 per cent match with 'lonely'. The word 'particular' was just a semantic expression on my behalf. I am sorry if it offended you."

"No, no. Well, not really. It was just a question."

"Mr. Stark is currently in the lab that is located past the second door on the left."

When Steve entered the lab, he was confronted with an array of machines and objects that his eyes just glazed over in passing. Through a blue haze of holographic projections, he could see the back of Tony's head, slumped in an oversized chair. He attempted to round a table but bumped into the single arm of a small robot that had moved forward curiously and now made a squealing noise in protest to the sudden contact.

Tony's head snapped around and he glared at the robot and the intruder. "I thought I told you to shut down, Dummy. And just because that's his name doesn't give you the right to kick him. That's my job."

"Sorry Tony, it was an accident."

"What are you doing here anyway?"

"Uh, well . . ." _I was looking 'particularly lonely' and could use some company_ , flashed through his head. "Jarvis brought me here. I wasn't really busy."

"Well I am."

"Staring at the floor?"

"Well I _was_ busy. Sorta. Not really I guess. Hey do you wanna do something?"

"I mean I wouldn't want to interrupt your overly busy work schedule, but yeah, that sounds great."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you Cap. That's my thing," Tony said as he got out of his chair.

"So what do you have in mind?"

"Well my usual idea of fun includes buying the most expensive booze at the nearest liquor store and then watch its liquid contents slowly disappear but considering you can't get drunk I'm open to other suggestions."

"Well its lunchtime soon. There's a great little pizza place around the corner."

"There's an even better shawarma joint down the road. Round two?"

"Should we smash the place a little bit to set the mood?"

"I'm cool with collecting new memories. Happy ones. You?"

Steve's lip twitched into a lopsided smile. "That sounds pretty good."

"And since I'm in such a generous mood, I'll buy."

"That sounds even better."

Several hours later, the two men were back in the front lobby of the Tower. Tony had lost the tired, apathetic look in his eyes and Steve was softly humming a few bars of his favourite jazz song. The didn't exchange any words, just silently headed to the elevator and began to head up.

"Drop by the lab any time you're here Rogers. I've got a couple other shawarma places I want to check out," Tony called over his shoulder as he exited the elevator.

"Will do Tony." The silver doors slid shut silently. "Thank you."

Back in his room, Steve was surprised to see a small envelope on his desk. He recognized Pepper's handwriting of his name and opened it curiously.

"Meadowvale Retirement Centre," he read the bold letters at the top of the piece of paper that looked like a registration form. "When I said I was born way before the others this isn't exactly the response I had in mind, Pepper."

His eyes scanned the form. It was already filled in and his breath caught in his throat as he read the name at the top. _Margaret "Peggy" Carter_.

"Peggy," he breathed out as tears filled his eyes. "You're still alive."

His knees threatened to collapse out beneath him so he reached out unsteadily to grab the edge of the desk. A flood of memories and emotions washed through him and the tears continued to stream down his cheeks. Maybe he wasn't so alone after all. Maybe he'd never been alone. Maybe there was a link between his old life and the new.

* * *

A/N: Aaaaand I'm back! Life kinda interfered for a bit but I'm hoping to be back on a regular updating schedule. Thank you to all those who followed and favourited this story in the meantime. As always, reviews are always welcome!


	8. Lab Bro's

**Lab Bro's**

 _In which Tony Stark and Bruce Banner are involved in some serious pyrotechnic displays and other sketchy science experiments, to the great exasperation of both the New York Fire Department and Pepper Potts._

The wailing sirens of firetrucks filled the streets of New York, drowning out the sounds of the morning traffic rush. In a blur of red, accompanied by flashing blue and white lights, three firetrucks raced towards the towering landmark of the city's skyline.

On the lawn surrounding the Avenger's Tower, two white-clad figures stood out in marked contrast to the fresh verdure around them. Although, the description of 'white' was no longer quite so valid. The once pristine lab coats were tinged grey, several areas shaded a coal-black that looked suspiciously like the aftereffects of an explosion of sorts. The matching marks on hands and faces of the two men as well as their slightly singed hair seemed to confirm the suspicion.

The two were facing each other, ignorant of the chaos around them as personnel from the building streamed out from the emergency exits and firemen rushed towards the Tower. The argument of the two even drowned out the piercing shrill of the fire alarm.

"I said DON'T get too close to the blowtorch with that newly-coated piece of metal!" exclaimed the taller of the two, gesticulating widely with his arms.

"I can't hear a damn thing when your music is playing at full volume, Tony!"

"Oh so blame the music, yeah. Not the DOCTOR who's supposed to know better than to be careless around fire!"

"My field of research is actually in a different area; I'm not overly familiar with how different coated metals react to a blazing blowtorch. You just asked me to help you quickly."

"Which I regret most heartily. You almost blew up my baby!"

"And by baby you mean what exactly?" Dr. Bruce Banner asked carefully.

"My tower of course! By beautiful, expensive, custom-designed tower!"

"Look, I really am sor—"

"Save it Doc. No apology will ever fix this."

A loud ringtone burst the tension. Tony fished out a cellphone from the almost burnt-through pocket of his lab coat. "Pepper honey. What's new?"

The answering voice was so loud that Tony had to hold the phone away from his ear and Bruce was able to hear the entire conversation. "What's new?" Pepper shrieked. "I get a notice on my phone that the fire alarm has been activated and then I get a report that half a brigade of firetrucks have been dispatched! What have you done?!"

"I didn't do anything!" Tony protested. "Brucey here blew up my lab," he said, pointing an accusing finger at the doctor who raised his hands in innocent protest. "And besides there's only three firetrucks."

"Actually five more have arrived and are parked on the other side," Bruce threw in.

"What do you mean, 'He blew up the lab'?!" Pepper continued.

"Well I guess not the entire lab. There's just a three-story hole above the experiment table and a lot of smoke everywhere."

"Tony." The exasperated sigh was so dramatic that Bruce could almost see Pepper in front of him - eyes closed, trying to take a deep breath and harms half raised, not knowing whether she wanted to strangle her not-so-safety-conscious boyfriend or rub away the oncoming migraine from her temples.

"It's all good, Pep. Everything's under control." The words were accompanied by a loud crash as a weakened ceiling collapsed somewhere up in the Tower.

"Everything is under control?" Pepper echoed.

"Of course. It just sounds and looks worse. Everybody's fine. Maybe a little singed, but all limbs are intact."

"What am I going to do with you two?" the strawberry blond groaned. "You're destroying my already very thin veneer of sanity."

"Don't be silly," Tony countered gaily. "What would you do with your life if the good doctor and I didn't provide for some daily variety and excitement?"

"I'd enjoy my life, that's what. And live longer," Pepper snapped back, "I've gotta go Tony. Promise me no more dangerous experiments."

"That I cannot do, my dear. I like to live dangerously!"

"I would like to concur with your very intelligent and thoughtful girlfriend," Bruce commented as Tony hung up. "You might not value my life, but I certainly would like to keep it."

"What's the fun without a bit of risk?"

"Tony, I'm a living, walking specimens of risk. Do you know how much that explosion rattled the Other Guy?"

"Come to think of it, you are looking a little green. Although that could also be an aftereffect of my exploding metal alloy. I hope you didn't get too much residue on you - last time that happened to me I had some very unpleasant following few weeks."

Bruce's face turned a shade paler, contrasting with the darkened lab coat. "I can't believe this is happening. You said this would be SAFE working environment."

"It is, generally speaking. This isn't a daily occurrence. Just monthly, maybe bi-monthly."

Bruce pressed his palms to his temple and shook his head. Disbelief and frustration flashed through his eyes before being replaced with resignation. "Your insurance rates must be through the roof."

"Not really actually."

"You mean to say you got a decent rate from an insurance company."

"I mean to say that I didn't get any rates at all. Something about the risk factor being too great."

"No surprise there," Bruce muttered. He stopped his nervous fidgeting abruptly. "Are you saying you're not insured at all?"

"I'm a billionaire, doctor. I tend to take a reactive approach to such minor details, not a proactive one."

A mute head shake was the doctor's response. "I hope the kitchen wasn't damaged at least. I need a drink."

"It should be relatively untouched although it might be some time before you're allowed in - speaking from past experiences. The fire department is meticulously thorough, not to mention extremely slow. First the fire is put out, then a structural investigation of the building needs to be completed before we're allowed back in and at some point I receive the unavoidable visit from the fire chief himself."

"It worries me a bit to be honest, how well you know these procedures."

"Like I said, bi-monthly occurrence. And right on cue, here comes the much beloved fire chief Mr. Dinkelstein."

Kurt Dinkelstein, who had the dubious honour of being chief of the fire station closest to the Tower, was a tall lean man with a thin blond moustache and a slowly receding hairline.

"Kurt!" Tony exclaimed with a very convincing fake smile. "Always a pleasure. We see each other so rarely outside these happy reunions on my front lawn."

"Mr. Stark." The smile was not answered on the fire chief's face. "It's only been ten days since the last explosion. I had hoped the trend of ever-increasing intervals between incidents would continue, but I see myself disappointment."

"I will try my best and keep track of the days before I explode something again. Although in today's case I have to say it was an entirely unforeseen accident and not my fault."

Dinkelstein ignored Tony's excuse. "Our investigation will determine the cause of the explosion and we will inform as to how to further procedures."

"That won't be necessary. I can get my AI to do that in much less time and with no cost or danger to your men. Really I'm just looking out for the best interest of your crew."

"Looking out for their best interest would involve not setting your tower on fire every two weeks," Dinkelstein bit back through clenched teeth. "I'm going to have to insist that you leave me and my men to do our job."

"Well if you're insisting," Tony replied with a sweeping gesture towards the door. As the fire chief walked off he couldn't help but call after him. "Watch out for the 35th level. The main structural supports are cracked and liable to fall if any pressure is put on then from above. Pressure like a 300-pound fireman in all his equipment!"

Tony turned to Bruce who had observed the exchange with his typical reserved silence. "That man is so condescending. And a stickler to the rules. I can't stand him!"

"I'm sure he feels the same about you," Bruce replied dryly. "You're also not exactly known for your humble and gracious attitude."

The billionaire waved away the comment. "People are just jealous of me."

"Yeah I could imagine a lot of people would want explosions and fires to regularly destroy their homes."

"Nothing money can't fix. Speaking of which, I had a small garden house built over there by the edge of the property so I had somewhere comfortable to wait out the interminably long inspection of our dear friend Kurt."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Bruce muttered to himself. He had worked in many dangerous places before, but Tony's egomaniac disposition seemed to make his current environment more hazardous than any before.

The two entered what Tony described as a 'small garden house'. Of course when compared with the Tower it was quite relatively small but it still managed to fit in a fully-stocked bar, lounge area with several couches and a 50" flat-screen TV, plus an area of several equipment-covered tables that Bruce, to his growing horror, recognized as a miniature lab.

"Right. First things first." Tony clapped his hands eagerly and headed to the bar to pour himself a generous measure of scotch. "Cheers, doctor. Help yourself," he said, raising the glass.

"I think I need a sedative tea," the even paler-looking doctor murmured weakly, clenching the back of a couch in support.

Tony had apparently not heard him, or just ignored him. "Now where were we, J?"

"I believe you were about to test the reactivity to high temperatures of a new alloy."

"Right. And good thing I had a sample of that alloy in my pocket when Bruce exploded the rest."

"Tony, are you sure this is a smart idea?"

"I'm a genius. Everything I do is smart." Wearing his blackened and tattered lab coat, safety glasses precariously perched on top of his head, Tony turned up the dial on the blowtorch.

"Okay, well I'm just going to . . . I'm going to take a look at the exterior decorations of this increasingly dangerous building."

The door slammed shut rather abruptly and Tony's lab partner hurried away as fast as he could while attempting to look casual. The good doctor was starting to feel like taking up Tony's offer had not been the best decision. True, Tony hadn't really left him much choice. As soon as Loki and Thor had teleported back to their realm, he had insisted that Bruce come back with him and explore his labs.

He had actually believed Tony too when he had said that there wouldn't be any sharp or dangerous objects lying around. He had failed to realize that Tony himself was a dangerous object. He watched the activities of the firemen for a bit - they all seemed to know exactly what to do and where to go. The Tower personnel milling around on the entranceway also seemed to be handling the entire situation quite calmly. Someone had even set up a table with a coffee machine and a box of donuts. It was evident that everyone was well used to the situation of 'unexpected-explosion-interrupting-an-otherwise-boring-day'.

"Maybe I should take a vacation or two," Bruce said to himself, thinking of the calming noise of India's traffic-jammed cities and army convoys rattling through pothole-filled streets.

He had already turned back toward the garden house and was about to start walking when a high-pitched squeal split the air, immediately followed by a resounding BOOM. A small section of roof from the garden house flew straight up, followed by a thick black qualm of smoke. The pieces of metal and wood began to rain down on the immaculate green lawn and shrubbery and the ear-piercing shrill sounded above all the other noises.

"Tony!" Dr. Banner exclaimed in fright and hurried towards the garden house. He was accompanied by a troop of firefighters whose facial expressions were not exactly radiating with pleasure.

The fireman in the lead yanked open the door and out stumbled a singed and blackened figure, coughing vehemently. "That was a quick response time. You wouldn't have been somewhere nearby already?"

A cursing Kurt Dinkelstein ran up to Tony as his men began to douse the flames licking through the hole in the roof.

"You're going to get yourself killed someday!" the fire chief muttered angrily.

"I'll make sure you get an invite to the funeral Kurt."

"Do you not have anything better to do than keep my entire brigade occupied when we've got dozens of other calls that we should be responding to?"

Tony coughed with great exaggeration. "Spare me the lecture. My ears are still ringing from that blast."

"Consider hiring a babysitter Mr. Stark. For my conscience and sanity's sake."

"I've already got one in Pepp and she's probably on her way to murder me, but your concern is greatly appreciated."

The fire chief looked as if he was about to grab the nearest fire hose and blast the sarcasm out of the smug-looking man standing in front of him but he apparently thought better of it and focused on the scene playing out around the garden house.

In the meantime, Bruce had cautiously come closer, not sure if he should be worried about Tony's health or just run and get as far away from the Tower as possible.

Tony took off his now mostly disintegrated lab coat and dropped it on the lawn. "Well Doc, I don't know if there's anything else for me to blow up so let's get out of here. Pepper has a penthouse not too far away where we can crash."

It was several hours later and the two men were sitting on the couch in the penthouse. They had decided to watch a movie and Bruce had put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. They were in the middle of a very heated discussion on which movie to watch when the distinct smell of something burning reached their noses.

"Do you smell that? What is that?" Tony asked. "Please don't tell me the popcorn is burning. I hate burned popcorn."

Bruce glanced at his watch. "I think I may have forgotten to take it out."

They both looked at each other. "Shit."

A resounding BANG interrupted the tranquility of the evening and Kurt Dinkelstein's alarm began to buzz loudly.


	9. Sound of Silence

**Sound of Silence**

 _And in the naked light I saw / Ten thousand people, maybe more / People talking without speaking / People hearing without listening / People writing songs that voices never share / And no one dared / Disturb the sound of silence / Fools, said I, you do now know / Silence like a cancer grows - Simon & Garfunkel_

It was a calm, quiet evening. No impending world-ending catastrophes or nefarious villains attempting to take over the world. It was the type of evening meant to relax and spend time with family and friends, laughing and joking. It was an evening meant for company and good times.

Scattered raindrops pattered softly against the glass-panelled walls. The sun had set, and the sky was beginning to fade from orange and deep red to indigo and black. A myriad of city lights revealed the stark silhouette of the city's skyline. The chaos of the day was slowly winding down and the frantic activity beneath the light of the sun had slowed to a casual flow.

Inside the Tower, the commons was lit by a soft glow and a comforting warmth filled the room. At one point or another during the day, the six members of the Avengers had all made their way to the commons. They had recently been reunited after the two spies had unearthed another lead to the location of Loki's sceptre. They hadn't found it, but another Hydra facility deep with the Caucasus mountain range had been destroyed. It would soon be time for the camaraderie to end, as Thor would be returning shortly to Asgard and the others to their various occupations. With this knowledge in the forefront of their thoughts, each Avenger had felt him or herself pulled to this large, open space. Pulled by a need for friendship, for comfort, for assurance, for acceptance. Much lay on their hearts. Many thoughts whirled through their minds. But their lips remained sealed, each one waiting for the other to start speaking.

Clint was sprawled haphazardly across one of the couches in a central area. Limbs were pointed in all directions - one leg dangled across the edge, the other on the armrest. The left arm rested on top of the couch and the other was folded beneath his head. He could feel his right leg starting to fall asleep but he was too comfortable and too lazy to move. He sighed dramatically, trying to elicit a response from the rest of the team but nobody seemed interested in starting a conversation.

Just like after operation or mission, Clint ran through every single second several times. He took note of what had gone well, considered what didn't and thought of what he would do differently next time. He wasn't always happy after coming back from an assignment for not all were successful or went according to plan, but a the end of this process, he was at least content that he had done everything he could and was confident that he would be better next time.

Of course the Avengers always debriefed as a team as well, after every mission. Although those debriefings consisted mostly of Tony pointing out how dashing he looked in his Iron Man suit and Captain America telling everything where the team chemistry was lacking. But what Clint really wanted, was someone to share his in-depth, detailed observations with and get feedback from a different point of view. He glanced over at Natasha, catching a glimpse of her profile from the corner of his eye. She was always just as hard on herself as he was on himself and as equally observant. Steve generally made pretty useful comments too, and the shy Dr. Banner occasionally made a few very relevant remarks, once his skin had regained a normal tinge.

Yes, Clint mused wordlessly, they would no doubt add valuable information to his personal debriefing process.

That was just it, he realized. He wanted to make it a group process. To reflect together on the events that had transpired.

Clint waited, hoping for someone to want to go through the mission step by step. When no one spoke up however, he sighed again, closed his eyes and replayed what had happened for him alone to see.

Natasha had heard Clint's sigh and had a good idea what it meant. She knew Clint well, knew how he processed all his assignments. But if he really wanted to talk with someone he just had to ask. The former KGB agent, currently working for SHIELD, knew that if you wanted something, you had to pick your ass up off the ground and take it. The world didn't wait for anybody and also never offered second chances.

The master spy was dressed all in black - tight jeans, knee-high boots containing a few concealed weapons, and a loose sweater. She was sitting in a chair near the way, legs folded beneath her. A casual observer would think she was resting, but from beneath her long lashes, she was keeping the entire room under constant surveillance. She knew where her blind spots were, was aware of all the exits, entrances and stairs. This observing had become so second nature that Natasha didn't even realize that she was doing it. After a while, her posture relaxed silently - a sign that she felt safe. A feeling that she had begun to newly associate with the Tower and the Avengers.

At first. Natasha was comfortable with the brooding silence in the room but quickly noticed that something was off. The other Avengers were fidgety - not enough to be annoying, but enough for her to pick up an undercurrent of discomfort. A subtle layer of tension, of expectancy lay in the air, but try as she might, she could not make a guess as to what everyone was waiting for.

Everyone had eaten, with the exception of Thor who was sitting at the kitchen island and shovelling down mouthfuls of whatever he had scavenged. So they weren't expecting food, that was clear. And it couldn't be rest either because it was still fairly early in the evening and they all looked awake. It seemed that they wanted to do something, though she doubted it was to hop on a plane and fly to some remote location and get shot at by Hydra's thugs.

So what was it? It was starting to bother Natasha a lot that she couldn't figure this out. Not that the thought of asking someone came to mind. She had always achieved her goals and tasks by herself, unaided, and just because she was nominally in a team now did not necessarily mean that that would change.

No, Natasha Romanoff had no urgent desire for shared conversation. She had been dependent on herself for so long, had been instilled with the values of keeping silent, that the concept of casual chatter with friends was a foreign concept for the red head. As a result, she failed to understand that the one thing missing in the room, the one thing everyone was waiting for, was a word. A simple word to fill the vast void in the room.

The cape-cloaked figure eating as if his life depended on it was actually only half-heartedly engaged in his task. There were three things that Thor enjoyed doing: fighting, relaxing with his comrades, and feasting. The fight was over, though it had been a glorious spectacle of noise, blood and smashing. Relaxing with his comrades generally included joking, laughing and talking, but none of his current companions seemed to be reclined to do so. Which left feasting. Although cold leftovers made for a very dismal feast and he hadn't been overly hungry to begun with.

On Asgard, Thor was known as quite the boisterous reveller and his full, deep-throated laugh could be heard from a fair distance. He was starting to build up a similar reputation on Midgard among the Avengers, but the catch was that he usually joined feasts. He never started one. That's why he was seated a bit aside from everyone else, lost in thought. He was going through all that he head learned about these mortals, especially their customs when it came to revels. Or parties, Thor reminded himself, was the word they preferred to use here. He had participated in small, enjoyable gatherings with Jane and Darcy, and occasionally Erik, but it had always been the girls who had organized those and he had never really been involved with the preparations. Darcy had also taken him out "clubbing" in London once, which was a most interesting experience. It was currently late evening, so the time was right but he was not familiar enough with New York to know of any clubs in the area.

Thor slammed his glass of water on the table in mute frustration. Natasha glanced over imperceptibly but nobody else reacted. He was starting to get extremely frustrated and he knew he needed to be really careful about his actions and words now. He knew that certain behavioural actions of his did not translate very well and Thor did not enjoy making a fool of himself. He had gone through enough unpleasant experiences at Loki's hand that he tried hard to avoid putting himself at the mercy of everyone's attention, looking like a complete idiot. Staying off to the side and keeping quiet was his preferred way of maintaining his god-like presence.

However, ever so often there came a day like today when he found it difficult to choose between staying safely on the sidelines and risking the others making fun of him because he had initiated a conversation or suggested they do something as a group.

Thinking about doing something as a group, he casually swivelled around on the bar stool and looked over the commons. Everyone seemed to be so relaxed and calm; some even appeared to be dozing. Thor glanced at Bruce who was reading a book, appearing so filled with inner peace that it was hard to believe the transformation he underwent in a moment of danger.

How did he do it? Thor wondered innerly, as he turned back to the unappetizing, unidentifiable food objects on his plate. He himself felt so out of place right now, like the foreigner he truly was, condemned to wordless sidelines of self-doubt and trepidation.

Bruce was unaware of Thor's scrutiny a moment ago. In fact he wasn't really aware of much beyond the words on the pages in front of him. He was seated in one of the many comfortable armchairs scattered around the commons. A large cup of tea - jasmine dragon tears tea to be exact - was steaming on the small table beside him and the book he was reading - a crime thriller in 1940s New York - was utterly captivating.

Bruce took a sip from his tea and momentarily broke his concentration from the book in his hands. It was one of those evenings that he loved. Relaxing with the other Avengers and enjoying their company. As that thought crossed his mind, he adjusted his glasses, looking up and around him. It had gotten noticeably dark since he had first come in here; he must have been reading for several hours, based on the multi-digit page number in the top right corner of the page. Clint was on the couch next to him, Thor was sitting at the table behind the couch. He couldn't see Steve and Natasha, although he figured the Captain was sitting in his usual spot and the spy was somewhere behind him. He could feel a prickling at the back of his neck, knowing that her ever-alert gaze was on everybody in the room. Tony was nowhere to be seen at the moment although he was probably not very far.

It was very quiet, Bruce realized suddenly. He had been too engrossed in the sounds that seemed to emanate from his book to notice the reality around him. Normally there was some music playing, either Steve's mellow jazz or Tony's overpowering metal but there was none of that tonight. Nor was there any talking or casual banter. In fact it was almost eerily silent.

Eery in the sense that it was unusual, not necessarily unpleasant. In fact, Bruce tried to recall when the last time was that he had experienced such a blissful lack of noise. Certainly not in the last few days with Thor around. The blond-haired god may have vastly improved on his manners and comportment, but he still walked around like one of those _bilgesnipe_ he so often referred to. Working with Tony in the labs also tended to approach the higher reaches of the decibel scale. Yes actually, it had been a long time since being in company with the Avengers didn't include wanting to escape into his sound-proofed floor.

The thought that something might be wrong briefly crossed Bruce's mind, but it was only a very brief thought. For him, this evening was perfect and he was going to enjoy this moment instead of ruining it with unnecessary talking.

Perhaps it was his natural aversion to conversation or his preference for inner calm, but whatever the case, Dr. Bruce Banner, normally one of the more perceptive team members, was unusually blinded that night. Adjusting his glasses once more, he turned back to his book, immersing himself back in to a world far removed form his own.

Tony completed his 437th circuit of the three interconnected floor of the commons and sank into the soft cushions of one of the couches. In a few minuted he would be up again and starting the 438th round. He felt restless, but wasn't motivated to do anything. He wanted to talk to someone, to get this pressure of his chest, but he didn't know where to begin.

He had had another nightmare the night before, had woken up tangled in sweat-drenched sheets, heart racing and head pounding. Events of the recent mission had intermingled with chitauri coming out of random wormholes that seemed to open up around every corner. In the end, he had ran into a room of the Hydra base to escape and instead found himself falling down through a black gaping hole that had suddenly opened beneath his feet.

It was a reoccurring nightmare. Not very often yet but whenever it came, Tony just wasn't himself the next day. Pepper knew probably more about the situation than she let on, but she gave him his space and distance, taking care of him as she had always done. The Avengers were a different story. In a way they were 'his' team despite Captain America being the de facto team leader. And despite most of them living, or semi-living, at the Tower, he hadn't really gotten to know them very well. At least not well enough to confide in someone about his haunting dreams.

An invisible timer rang and his allowed time for "brooding-while-sitting" had come to an end, so Tony stood up to transfer to "brooding-while pacing". He could walk this route in his sleep by now: left around the large, dark blue couch, around the glass end table, up the stairs, through the balcony lounge, and so on . . . . His footsteps were barely noticeable, adding to the already present defect of sound in the room.

He paused briefly from the open-air hallway between the two movie theatres on the third floor to look over the scene below. He was standing above Steve's cozy little corner, with a perfect sightline on the super soldier's blond head with not a hair out of place. He was going to have to remember this place - it was perfectly situation for a good prank.

But not now. Not today. despite the company of the Avengers it was not a time for talking and laughing. Despite the success of their latest mission, it was not a time for jokes and an enjoyable evening.

The self-proclaimed playboy continued pacing. He was in an emotionally volatile mood and not good company. In fact, he wondered why he was even here, driving himself crazy, instead of in his lab or his rooms, blasting his music. He stopped again at the corner of the kitchen, leaning back against the wall. Hands tucked in the pocket of his worn jeans he closed his eyes in an attempt to achieve some clarity.

Was he here because he felt responsible for his 'team'? Was he here because a tiny side of him craved human contact and comfort? Tony opened his eyes with a reflexive shake of his head and continued walking. Whatever the answer was, being here didn't seem to be helping much. Moreover he really didn't want to be here either.

But something kept him from leaving the commons. Maybe it was the fact that he really was starting to appreciate the different Avenger team members and their company. He didn't know and he really didn't want to know. Tony Stark was not the kind of man that wasted time on self-reflection or talking about problems.

He passed Steve, slowed just a tiny bit as he swivelled his head and made eye contact. It was only a second, a fleeting moment, yet both men could see each other's thoughts reflected in the other's eyes. Nevertheless, Steve quickly lowered his head and Tony kept going, the moment for saying something vanishing into the past.

Steve felt a twinge of shame inside as he turned his gaze away from Tony and down into his lap. His long-fingered hands, nails shortly trimmed and filed, rested lightly on his muscled things. He had been in this position for several hours now, barely moving. Only the occasional glimpse at his teammates revealed that he was still alive.

The captain felt a little ashamed because he knew what was going on in the heads of the other Avengers. Tony was almost bursting at the seems to say something but keeping himself remarkably under control, most likely because of fear of what he so desperately wanted to bring out into the open. Bruce was to caught up in his own search for peace and tranquility that he didn't really take not of what was going on around him. Thor was trying to balance the thin line between acceptance and rejection, not really knowing how to act or react and thus trying to keep a low cover - or as low as possible for a tall handsome god from a different world. Natasha was being her distant usual self, observant but silent, the result of years upon years of teaching, training and practice. Clint was trying to imitate something without actually being the one to start anything; although normally he was successful, tonight he was doomed to failure.

Steve had been motionless for so long because despite knowing what the other Avengers were going through, he didn't really know what was going on inside of him. Thus resulting in the reoccurring feelings of shame because he knew exactly what he could do to help the others but he had no solution for his own problems.

Everyone always seemed to think he had everything under control. He was Mr. Perfect, after all. And yes, a lot of things were easier for him, but that didn't mean that he didn't also have emotional repercussions from everything he had gone through and was going through. How was he supposed to ask for help when others always expected that he help everyone around him. It wasn't that he didn't mind doing that - in fact he enjoyed it - but there came times when he just couldn't do it anymore. When he sank deep into himself and tried to resolve the differences between the man he had come to be, the man everyone saw him as, and the man he truly was inside. As of yet, he had not come up with any answers.

And so he remained, immobile on his chair, as one by one, the Avengers left the commons. First Tony, abruptly cutting short one of his rounds and walking into the elevator. Then Thor, evidently having cleared out anything edible in the fridge. Bruce left once his book was finished and Clint followed soon after, probably heading for his hammock for a more comfortable sleeping position. Natasha simply disappeared; one moment she was in her chair, the next she was gone. And finally, a long time after, Steve finally got up and walked out, as silently as everyone else.

* * *

 **A/N:** Something a little bit different . . . so far my one-shots have been fairly dialogue-heavy so I wanted to try something new, and I was inspired by the lyrics from the song "Sound of Silence". The cover by Disturbed gives me chills every time I listen to it, such a powerful song!


	10. Strike Team Delta

**Strike Team Delta**

 _In which two special agents get a surprise visit at the Tower, shortly after it has become the Avengers' hub._

It was a hot, lazy summer afternoon. The Tower ground were quiet. The maintenance crew had retreated into their air-conditioned shed for an extended lunch break away from the blazing sun. Only on the gravel lane leading to the small side entrance of the property was a truck parked and five men were loading boxes into the back of it.

Despite the heat, the five men wore long-sleeved coveralls in the typical dark blue with the silver "A" that characterized the uniforms of all Tower personnel. The side entrance was hidden in a sparse copse of wood that kept the men and the truck hidden from sight. The gate itself was made to appear like the rest of the walled enclosure that surrounded the outer limit of the property. Only the maintenance and security teams knew about the entrance in order to avoid paparazzi or other uninvited guests from coming too close. Only a name tag that was scanned in combination with a facial scan allowed the gate to open.

High up inside the Tower, ensconced in his hammock several feet above the ground, Clint was awakened by a single ring on his phone cut short, then immediately followed by a normal-length ring. After a pause, another ring cut short, a normal ring, and a second short ring interrupted the peaceful quiet. The ringing continued after another pause, jarring the sleeping man from any further rest.

With an annoyed grumble, Clint reached fro his phone and swiped to answer. "Are you ringing in morse code? You do know that normal people just let the phone ring out until the person answers?"

"What's the fun in that?"

"Calling someone is not supposed to be fun. Especially when said person is sleeping."

"It's 12:30, Clint. I've been up for hours and there's nobody here today."

"What, miss me already, Nat? We spent the last four days holed up together in a tiny bunker in Alaska."

"Well I'm hungry for some real food, and you know I don't cook."

Clint sighed and rolled his eyes, trying to burrow deeper into his covers. "Stark doesn't keep food in that high-tech kitchen of his?"

"Stark's definition of food is limited to coffee. There's some frozen pizzas in the freeze, mustard and hot sauce in the fridge, and cereal and peanut butter in the cupboards."

"So basically the same thing we ate the past week."

"Exactly. So are you going to get your lazy ass out of bed and cook me something?"

"Fine. Only if you go buy some real food to cook with."

Triumph and satisfaction were evident in Natasha's voice, "I'll be back in 20."

Back in the wooded back section of the Tower grounds, the men had finished loading up the truck and were now slowly driving towards the Tower. They parked the truck at the side of the tall building, out of sight from the other buildings and the main front entrance. One of the men - a stocky, black-haired man with a full beard - pulled out his ID and swiped it. The picture on the ID was of a slender, blond man in his early 20s.

Twenty minutes later, a red-haired slender woman in a black leather jacket and sunglasses walked up the entranceway carrying four bulging grocery bags. Natasha walked into the building and entered the elevator, arms crossed across her chest, shades on, as the elevators doors closed in front of her.

Clint was waiting for her when she walked into the kitchen. He was dressed in a pair of worn blue jeans, and a faded dark purple t-shirt that. "I'll take those form you, thank you," he said, taking the grocery bags. "I've got the oven preheated and water already boiling to cook the potatoes and veggies."

"How'd you know I'd bring potatoes and vegetables."

"Come on Nat, you always buy the exact same things - all the ingredients for goulash, which I'm still refusing to make."

"What's wrong with goulash?"

"Besides everything?" Cling threw the potatoes and vegetables the sink beneath some flowing water. He took out a pork roast from the other bag and sniffed it. "Well at least you bought a fresh roast this time."

"That's why you make goulash - boiling food kills off anything that's gone bad."

"And then the goulash kills of you." Clint began to chop the vegetables. "You got drinks, right?"

"Of course." At the island table, Natasha was standing in front of several open bottles and a cocktail shaker. "What've we got today? Mission-well-done celebratory drink?"

"Yeah sure." Clint finished mixing the vegetables with some spices and old bread he had found in the cupboard beside the peanut butter, and began to stuff the pork roast.

"You don't sound so enthusiastic," commented Natasha, as she began to pour the mixture into a tall glass.

Clint shrugged. "There's always another mission, isn't there? How many of these drink have we had already?"

"Plenty, and with lots more to come," the redhead replied, handing him a drink. "But we've got the day off today."

"I'll hold you that," Clint raised a challenging eyebrow, taking the drink.

They were casually sipping their drinks, watching the time count down on the oven, and the water simmer over the potatoes. There was no music playing in the background, no sound to fill up the warm, gentle quiet that had spread over the kitchen area. It was a blissful moment for the two agents, whose everyday background noises included gunshots and explosions.

"Agent Romanoff, Agent Barton." The clipped computer voice with a British accent ran over the com system.

"Jarvis," Natasha acknowledged.

"What's up, J?" Clint asked.

"There may have been a security breach in the Tower."

"May?"

"Security breach?"

"Five men came into the side entrance earlier with a valid ID, but they're wearing the uniforms of the ground maintenance crew, and they've just gone down into the basement where they have no reason to be."

Natasha sighed, setting down her drink. "Alright, we'll check it out."

"You mean you will. I've got to finish making lunch," said Clint, checking the potatoes.

"Don't take too long, I'm hungry." Taking the elevator down to the first floor underground, the master spy cautiously stepped out. She rolled back her sleeves and took out a handgun from the small of her back.

Creeping down poorly lit corridor, senses on high alert, Natasha quickly checked room after room. Nearing the end of the dim grey hallway, an open door led to a staircase going down. Following the steps to the lower floor, she began to hear lowered voices.

"Watch those wires."

"Just let me do my work!"

"We're losing time."

"Do you want me to faster and blow us all up?"

"Shut up! You, get your work done, and the rest of you, stand guard! I don't want anything to go wrong!"

As Natasha moved closer to the metal railing to get a better view, a broom that had been left behind and sloppily propped beside the door, fell down with a clatter.

The men started, reaching for their weapons and looking around for the source of the noise. "What was that?" the leader snarled. "You, go!"

Muttering a few choice curse words in Russian under her breath, the redhead at the top of the landing slipped back behind the door. Peeking through the crack, she saw three men heading towards the stairs carrying automatic machine guns trained on the door she was hiding behind.

"Shit!" She tucked her small gun back into her pants beneath her jacket and darted up the stairs. "Jarvis, five hostiles in the basement."

"Duly noted, Agent Romanoff. Would you like me to put the building on high security alert."

"Yeah sure, whatever that means," she replied as kept running.

She flew into the lobby and punched the button to the elevator. The AI's voice answered through the speakers. "The elevators have been disabled due to high security alert."

"Of course they have," Natasha muttered.

"The stairs to the upper levels are located in the second door to your right."

"Oh great, stairs. Not like this is a really, tall building or anything."

"There are seventy-f -"

"Shut up, Jarvis, I don't care," interrupted Natasha, bolting up two stairs at a time.

Clint didn't turn as the door slammed behind him. "That took longer than expected. But you're just in time - the potatoes are mashed and salted, and I just took the roast out of the oven."

An out-of-breath voice answered, "Do you have any idea how many stairs there are in this Tower?"

Whirling around, Clint placed the enticing-smelling pork roast on the counter and grabbed the wide-bladed butcher's knife as well as a small serrated knife for chopping vegetables.

"You're going to need something more serious than that. We've got five intruders with some heavy firepower and what looks like a bomb down in the basement."

Clint shrugged nonchalantly, setting down the knives and opening the cupboard above the fridge. "Looks like we've got to deserve this roast first."

"Can we ever eat something without having to deserve it first?" Natasha had taken away the panel below the armrest from the side of the couch closest to the elevators. A hidden compartment revealed several standard SHIELD handguns, holsters and ammunition, as well as a variety of knives and a set of her blue-tinged electronic wrist gauntlets. She put those on, grabbed some of the guns and ammunition and threw two of them at Clint who caught them easily and tucked them in his jacket pocket. In the meantime, he had fished out a compact bow and quiver from the top shelf in the cupboard, as well as two communication devices.

"Did they follow you?" he asked, throwing his quiver over his back, putting in his ear piece and handing the other to Natasha.

"I didn't hear them in the stairwell, but I didn't stop to find out. We need to make sure the staff are clear and disarm that bomb." She took the ear piece and put it in her right ear, then fired up her gauntlets.

Hawkeye was already moving towards the stairs. "We'll head to the basement, try to figure out what we're dealing with, but first sweep the levels for hostiles. You said there were five? Piece of cake."

"That I saw," the Black Widow responded, following her partner.

Heading down the stairs at a run, they locked off floor after floor, after getting JARVIS to scan the level for the five intruders and then having him send out a standard drill message to the staff in order to keep everyone calm. The two special agents kept up a regular banter as they cleared level after level at an astonishing speed, often leaping over the pristine white railing and free-falling to the floor below in order to save time. Despite the seemingly casual jokes, there was a steely look in their eyes. A look that signalled to everyone that SHIELD's best two agents were on mission, and on target.

They'd reached the twelfth level when Clint, who was in the lead a few steps ahead of Natasha, suddenly paused and raised a fist. On cue, Black Widow froze, and slowly removed her two handguns from the the cryptic hand signals that become like a native language to her over the years, she crept down the stairs to stand behind him at a slight angle, so as to perfectly cover him yet not intrude upon her visibility.

"Doors slammed below them, followed by screams of terrified employees.

"There goes covert stealth mode," Hawkeye muttered. "It's a go for Strike Team Delta!"

In a few seconds they were standing on either side of the door. Natasha pointed an eyebrow at the enamelled plaque mounted beside the doorframe: ARCHIVES.

"Probably not a coincidence," she said quietly.

Clint nodded, risking a quick glance past the doors. "You got left, I got right. Tell staff to lay low."

A quick nod from the redhead and they were through the doors, shoulder to shoulder. Moving in perfect synchronization, they swept their weapons over the room, Black Widow with her guns and blue-lit gauntlets, Hawkeye with his bow. The screams subsided in their wake as they rushed passed the first few offices. Frightened faces turned to relief, as the two agents blazed in.

"They . . . they w- . . . went into Archive Room 4," stuttered a young man wearing navy blue dress pants and a crisp white shirt. The palour of his face matched his shirt.

Reaching Archive Room 4, the first thing they noticed were the steel doors blown off their hinges. The second thing, almost instantaneously, were two machine gun barrels pointed at them. They fell to the floor as bullets whizzed over their heads and buried into the white panelled walls behind them, leaving a scattered pattern of black holes. Black Widow fired twice, and as the armed men dropped their guns and fell to the floor, Hawkeye leaped up and two arrows sprouted from their chests. Blood began to pool on the marbled surface around them.

"Laptop."

"Flash drive."

Natasha made a beeline to the laptop and hastily began to click. "Looks like they were uploading several files to a Cloud account. I can't trace the receiver but let's see . . . the files are all named something, something Research Facility. Coordinates maybe, yes, coordiante codes that identify SHIELD's research facilities around the world."

"Any clues as to why?" Clint had retrieved the flash drive that had fallen out from the pockets of one of the dead bodies.

"None. I've stopped the upload but some files did make it to the Cloud."

"What's on here?" He handed her the drive.

"More files. Oh wait, what's this?" Natasha clicked on an image file. It was a high resolution picture of Loki's sceptre.

The two agents exchanged looks.

"Unless that reindeer-horned maniac escaped Thor's very tight clutches, it looks like some enemy of SHIELD's is showing a very high interest in this thing and wants to find it," remarked Natasha.

Clint didn't say anything. His eyes were turned away from the laptop screen. His partner laid a reassuring hand on his shoulders.

"He's gone Clint. Let's focus on the three remaining guys and that bomb in the basement."

They hurried out, taking the laptop and flash drive with them. Soon they had reached the bottom o fthe stairwell after clearing the other floors with no incidents. Without a sound, they entered the entrance lobby and came upon a third man standing guard. He never stood a chance. Clint fired an arrow and Natasha caught him before he hit the floor, lowering him down soundlessly.

"Jarvis, can you bring up the video feed of the basement?" Clint asked, standing beside a security monitor.

"Unfortunately there are no video cameras on the lower floors, Agent Barton," the AI replied with lowered volume.

Natasha moved in the direction of the door that led to the basement stairs, but Clint couldn't resist rolling his eyes. "I can't believe there are no cameras in the basement!" he whispered. "Isn't this thing supposed to have the highest security measures?"

"Why don't you write a memo and put it in the suggestion box?" Natasha whispered back as she began to move slowly down the stairs, one step at a time.

I didn't know we had a suggestion box. Anything else nobody told me about?"

"The fact that there's been a security breach in the Tower?"

Clint laughed under his breath. "Oh yeah, might've been nice to get a head's up on that one."

They reached the top of the landing where Natasha had crouched not all that long ago. The broom was still lying on the ground. Below them, the apparent boss was pacing back and forth frantically, talking into a walkie talkie.

"Can anyone here me? Does anyone read, damnit! What the hell is going on up there?!"

"You're party's been rudely interrupted by us, my sincere apologies." Clint stood relaxed at the top of the stairs, arrow trained on the man's chest. "Weapons down. On the ground."

The black-bearded man spat in disgust. "Go to hell." He moved to raise his gun, but a black fist tinged with blue streaks connected with the back of his neck. There was an audible shock, followed by an anguished yelp cut short as the man lost consciousness.

"Nice work." Clint swung down to the floor and joined up with his partner who was standing in front of a crudely-made bomb consisting of a small gas tank, plastic explosives and wires. A red timer flashed ominously.

Natasha stood beside the fifth man slumped awkwardly on the floor. "He pushed the button before I got to him. Can you disarm it?"

"I can try." Clint knelt down beside the bomb and began to examine the jumbled mess of wiring.

From the direction of the stairs, a loud clatter was heard as someone stumbled over a broom handle. "You better check on the boss man," mumbled Clint, but Natasha was already gone, racing after the fleeing man.

She ran up the stairs, through the lobby and into the hallway leading to the side entrance. Just as she exited the door, the truck's engines roared and it began to pull away. Without hesitating, Natasha fired the rest of her rounds at the tires until the back ones blew and the truck swerved widely and crashed into the Tower. The last man still alive stumbled out of the cab, gun in hand but the master assassin was ready and waiting for him.

"Shit!"

"He got away?" Clint asked over the comms.

"He's dead," Natasha replied. "I wanted him alive to be questioned. How are you doing?"

"Well the timer's ticking away."

"Should we start an evacuation?"

"There's no time for that, and this bomb has enough power to level the entire building. But . . . wait, here we go. Oh no, wrong wire, I think it's this one."

"You think?"

"I do, and I thought right. Bomb disabled."

Both agents sighed in relief.

A while later, they had passed off the cleanup duties to the police and janitorial staff and were back in the kitchen in the commons area of the Tower.

"The roast is cold," Clint groaned in frustration.

"So much for a day off," smirked Natasha, as she placed a loaded plate in the microwave.

"I think I've got a thing or two for that suggestion box."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much to everyone that's been following and reviewing this story! I'm sorry for the very irregular updating, but I haven't forgotten! Hope you enjoyed this one shot on our two favourite spies and assassins, I'd love to hear your feedback.


	11. Best Friends

**Best Friends**

 _In which Captain America and his sidekick take refuge in the Avenger's Tower after escaping the crumbling ruins of the Triskelion Tower in Washington, D.C._

April 4th. A date forever engraved in the minds of the citizens of Washington, D.C. The disbelief and ensuing chaos of seeing three giant helicarriers bomb each other to smithereens and fall into the Potomac along with the Triskelion resonated deeply within all residents of the capital city of the United States.

In New York, feelings were slightly more superficial. For a city that had witnessed an alien invasion coming out of a purple wormhole and lay waste to Manhattan,the events in Washington seemed slightly subpar. All in all, life for the people in New York went on as usual as the people in Washington were still reeling in shock.

A couple days later, across the street from the main entrance gate to the Tower, A New York city bus came to a squealing halt at the designated bus stop. Two men got off the bus - both wearing sunglasses, baseball caps and hooded jackets.

The bus driver slammed on the gas pedal and swerved back into the traffic with no regards to the cars driving behind him. Two of the cars honked angrily, but the noise was lost in the ever-present droning sounds of New York traffic.

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder beneath the arching glass of the bus shelter, hands in their pocket as they tried to look casual. The man on the right was a tall, white male with an impressive muscle build that showed despite his jacket. The second was slightly smaller, dark-skinned, with a neatly trimmed beard framing his handsome face,

"I didn't see anybody following us."

"I haven't seen anything suspicious either. Can we just walk up and be let in?"

"Better than trying to sneak in the side. The Tower isn't affiliated with SHIELD, so I should still have access."

"Well there's use further standing here and looking like a couple stalkers. Let's go."

They crossed the street and walked up to the entrance; an iris scan of the tall blond opened up the gate without a fuss and soon they were exiting the elevator onto the floor that belonged to Captain America.

"So this is your Avenger's hangout. Damn, Cap. How come you haven't invited me here before?"

"Well I did just recently meet you," Steve Rogers pointed out, opening the door that led into a neat, 40s-style salon. "And the last few days have been slightly chaotic, so I apologize.

"Given the circumstances, I'll be generous and forgive you," replied Sam Wilson with a grin. "I feel like a just stepped into a time capsule. Do you even have electricity here?"

"Funny. Even better though." Steve grabbed a remote that seemed slightly out of a place on a low wooden table and pressed a button. One of the paintings on the wall - a black and white illustration of the skyline of New York back in the 1940s - slid up into the wall to reveal a 75" flatscreen TV. One of the small square tables beside an overstuffed armchair was revealed to be a fridge in disguise. Steve handed a beer to Sam.

"Cheers."

Sam took the beer with one eyebrow raised. "Cheers indeed."

Both men sank into an armchair and silence fell over the room. When it got too oppressive, Steve walked over to a corner with his record collection and selected one with some quiet background jazz music. The uplifting notes of the saxophone took away a bit of the heaviness inside their hearts. Both of their worlds had just been turned upside down in the last week, and they still weren't sure if it was truly over yet.

For Steve Rogers - better known as Captain America to the outside world - the realization that not only was Hydra still alive and active, but the fact that he may have been working for them through the disguise of SHIELD, affected him deeply. It affected him more than waking up into an unknown world with all those he had known long dead. More than trying to fight an army of aliens with a ragtag bunch of people he had just met and didn't really get along with. This, this was changing his entire viewpoint on Hydra and SHIELD, on his role as Captain America. This was a life-changing moment comparable to the day he had received the serum that had made him Captain America. Now he was beginning to question who he truly was and what he stood for.

Not to mention the fact that Bucky, his long-time best friend Bucky, who he thought dead since WWII was actually alive. And also not to mention that he was sitting across from a guy who had recently been a complete stranger and whom he know trusted like he had never trusted anyone since Bucky.

Sam Wilson wasn't going through quite the same life crisis, but he was still trying to figure out how he had gone from a semi-stable life as a veteran recovering from PTSD and helping others work through the same issues, to running around (more like trying to keep up with) a man mildly faster than him. And which included the following, though not limited to, not in the least stable activities:

kidnapping and threatening a high-ranking SHIELD officer

providing refuge to two wanted fugitives

stealing the last EXO-17 Falcon suit from a highly protected military base

trying to take down three helicarriers and hold of an army of brainwashed, murderous maniacs

flying in his suit again (which was admittedly awesome and he kicked some serious ass while looking super cool)

and now dropping his job and taking off with one of said fugitives, who was sort of a hero again but still wanted by the government. to go off on a wild goose chase after a man who had tried to kill them.

"Shit man, this is bad," Sam muttered to himself.

"What?" Steve looked up from contemplating his perfectly manicured fingernails.

Sam shrugged. "Did you know that that day you crashed on my doorstep I had woken up thinking it would be a perfectly normal day. And then you two bedraggled fugitives showed up on my doorstep and now I'm in New York as a fugitive myself."

"Well I wouldn't quite go that far . . ." Steve tried to argue, but stopped when Sam raised an eyebrow. "But I am really sorry I dragged you into all of this."

"Actually I sorta volunteered."

"True, but I'm still sorry about the mess everything turned out to be."

"Nothing we're not used to," the one soldier replied to the other.

After a few minuted of quietly sipping their beers, Steve turned on the TV and flipped to the CTV News channel. On screen appeared a round table at which were seated some of the highest ranking military officers as well as representatives from numerous federal agencies and the Senate. The camera zoomed in on a familiar redhead, chin raised proudly and eyes flashing defiantly.

"Now her I truly do feel sorry for," said Sam, waving his beer in Natasha's general direction.

"She owed me. Several times actually," Steve replied with a grimace of half-relief, half-remorse. "Said she'd stay in Washington and handle the press and politicians looking for someone to blame."

"Tough girl. I think those cameras would scare me more than the helicarriers."

"Yeah she's got guts," Steve agreed.

The camera flashed back to Natasha who was saying her last words to the group of unimpressed looking men, completely helpless in face of her strong presence.

"You're not going to arrest me. You're not going to arrest any of them. Do you know why? Because you need us."

"Are you sure we won't be facing any repercussions?" Sam asked with a tinge of worry. "I mean you're Captain America. Of course they're not going to arrest you. But I'm just a random black guy who happed to help take down a federal agency."

"You're not just a random guy Sam. You're the Falcon, and you're my friend."

At Steve's words, Sam felt the same hope and reassurance that he had noticed the day he had first met Captain America. It was hard to identify what exactly drew him towards this man, but he knew that he would never regret the decision to follow him, no matter the unpleasant consequences that may follow. For the first time in a really long time, he felt like he had a purpose in life again.

"Are you hungry? I'm not a great cook but I've mastered the grill-cheesed sandwich," Steve suddenly spoke up.

They walked into the kitchen, and Sam looked around with a soft "uh-uh" as he took in the very hideous, in his opinion, wallpaper.

Steve noticed his reaction and his lips quirked into a smile. "It's not for everybody, I know. But it reminds me of my mom's kitchen.

"Hey man, I'm not judging. I know how important it is to come home to something that actually feels like home."

"Bucky and I used to cook together," Steve mused softly, still reminiscing. He heated up a frying pan as Sam scrounged the fridge for the cheese and some bacon.

"His mom was often at work after school, and my mom . . . well anyway, we'd often cook supper together, if there was food. Most of the time it was beans. Boiled beans, cooked beans, fried beans - we tried to cook them every imaginable way to try and make them more edible."

Tearing open the pack of bacon, Sam threw it all into the frying pan, jumpin gback as it began to sizzle wildly. "Somehow I can't put the picture of your friend Bucky together with that metal-armed psycho Hydro assassin."

"He's still in there," Steve countered for the umpteenth time. "He saved me from the river."

"And then disappeared, making us begin the greatest manhunt of this century."

"You did volunteer." Steve gently laid pieces of bread into the bacon grease.

Sam raised his hands in defense. "I know man, I know. I'm just saying this whole thing should be carefully thought out before we get ourselves recklessly killed in the process."

Once more, Steve was overwhelmed by Sam's loyalty and generosity, and the level of blind trust he showed. He didn't even try to convince Sam not to come along, knowing exactly why he was willing to give everything to this crazy mission that even Steve himself know was not highly likely to succeed. Sam had lost his best friend, Riley, in the middle of a firefight, and would've given anything to have him back. He understood exactly what Steve was going through, having Buck suddenly reappear in his life, and understood better than anyone why Steve was willing to risk everything to get him back. A best friend was a best friend, no arguments.

Several sandwiches and even more beers later, there was a ring and a loud knock at the door, immediately followed by the door opening.

"Since it's my place, I really don't need to knock, right? So what's all this kerfuffle happing down in DC, Spangles?" With a barrage of words, Tony Stark burst into the kitchen. "Wait, who's this guy? Who are you? You better not be Hydra or - "

"He's good Tony, he's with me." Steve stood up to stand between the very expensively dressed and indignant-looking millionaire standing in the entrance of the kitchen, and the casually dressed, ex-military man sitting in disguised alert at the kitchen table. "Tony, this is Sam. Sam, Tony."

"Hey."

"Hi." Tony threw a quick look at the visitor before turning back to Steve. "So do you want to tell me what the hell happened?"

The blond sighed and returned to his seat at the table. "SHIELD isn't what we thought it was Tony. It had been taken over by Hydra who had gradually become more and more powerful."

"Alexander Pierce was their head," Sam added, through a mouthful of grilled cheese.

"Well they must have done a damn good job because I didn't know anything about all of this. And Jarvis had thoroughly searched their entire file library accessible through the helicarrier."

"Spied and infiltrated," said Steve.

"Whatever. Same thing, we've already gone over this." Tony grabbed one of the grilled-cheese sandwiches from the table and bit into it. "So SHIELD is gone and Mr. Eyepatch is dead, right? This is actually really good, the bacon is just the right degree of crispiness. Well what? Why are you exchanging secret looks as if I don't know something. Do I not know something?"

Steve looked at Sam who just shrugged. "Fury's not dead, Tony."

"No kidding! Headmaster Spy engineers his own death to trick everybody. That's original. So where is he?"

"He went off the Europe I think. Wants to track down some other ex-SHIELD personnel that are actually Hydra. He's a ghost now though, and prefers to stay that way."

"Whatever floats his boat. What about the Avengers now though? With no SHIELD, we've basically become a private organization. What do you think about a name change: Tony Stark's Avengers?"

Sam choked on his beer. "Is he always this pretentious?" he asked Steve.

Steve nodded. "Basically, calls it a part of his character charm." He turned back to Tony who was looking rather indignant. "I think the Avengers just became even more important. We need to stay independent, and if anything happens, we'lll be ready to respond, just like we've been doing up till now."

"Except that we normally got word of something fishy from SHIELD."

"We have Clint and Natasha. They've got ears and eyes everywhere and can notify us if they catch word of anything. And I heard Maria Hill is looking for a new job. Told me she'd submit a resume to Stark Industries."

"Maria I'm-too-serious-to-know-how-to-laugh Hill?"

"Besides Fury she knows more than anybody," Steve defended her. "And she's not Hydra, something that's become a bit rare of late."

"I'll take that as a reference. No promises though. Speaking of Natasha, where is she now? I'll have to thank her for dumping all that juicy stuff on the web. J is still sorting through it now."

"Did you see the press conference?"

"Hard to miss, it's been replayed in every news segment for the past few days."

"We saw her shortly after. Said she's going to lay low for a bit. But she'll be back."

"Clint?"

Steve shook his head. "I don't know. He might've been on mission. Natasha would've gotten through to him. He'll be around too."

"That's a lot of unknown variables," Tony frowned.

"Just give it time till everything settles down a bit," Sam threw in.

Tony nodded, looking from one man to the other. "And you two?"

Steve briefly gave him a recap of the past few days, ending with the fight on the helicarrier but glossing over the Winter Soldier's identity. Sam continued with an account of how they had found Steve's body at the side of the river and took him to a small-town hospital outside of Washington. Natasha and Fury had returned to the capital in the helicopter while he had stayed behind with Steve. The super soldier had recovered quickly, and they headed back to Washington in disguise. After the quick meeting at the cemetery, they were on the first bus to New York.

"And now?" Tony asked.

Steve hesitated before replying. He just wasn't quite ready to reveal everything about the Winter Soldier. An image of the newspaper article that Zola had shown him in the bunker flashed before his eyes. No, it was better that Stark wasn't told that particular information yet. Not just for his protection, but also for Bucky's.

"We're going to hunt down a few of the Hydra guys as well," he finally said nonchalantly. "Sam's going to be helping me out with that."

"Sam, right. Is he going to be living here as well?"

"I've got a guest room," Steve sprung in, before Sam could give a snappy reply. "He can sleep here on my floor when he's around, but access to the Tower would be great."

"That's something I could do. What else are you called, Sam the Sidekick?"

"The hell I'm somebody's sidekick!" Sam burst out. "It's Sam Wilson. Or the Falcon."

"Oh you're the bird guy!"

"Falcon."

"You still got your wings?"

A shadow flickered across Sam's face. "I still got the suit but no wings. I'm grounded."

Tony slapped him across the back. "Let me take a look at it, Flyboy, and I'll tell you if you're grounded or not."

"Thanks Tony," Steve interrupted again. He wasn't sure if Sam was about to hug the genius for his offer or punch him in the face for all the nicknames. Another character charm that one needed to get used to. "That'd be great."

"Don't mention it." Tony looked at his watch. "Well I'll leave you to it, I had a very important meeting an hour ago that I shouldn't be late for." He strode out the door.

"You've got real interesting friends, Cap."

Steve smiled. "He takes some getting used to, but Tony's a good guy. We've all got our problems and face them differently."

"Well I shouldn't be surprised. I mean you do tend to just pick up your friends off the street."

They both chuckled.

"Thank you, by the way," Sam continued. "For letting me stay here and everything. And if Stark does manage to give me back my wings, I'll owe you big time."

Steve shook his head. "Never. I could never repay your help for what we're about to get started on."

"You don't have to. Friends don't collect debts."

A genuine smile lit up Steve's face, mirrored by Sam's broad grin. They opened another beer bottle each and raised them in a salute. "To friendship."

"Cheers to that."

"Cheers indeed."

* * *

 **A/N:** Just rewatched Winter Soldier and got inspired for a few story ideas. And I was so excited to bring Sam into this story, because he's one of my favourite characters by far. So I'm also going to take this time and shamelessly promote another one of my fics: Journal of Sam Wilson. Check it out!


	12. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

 _In which the collapse of SHIELD and ensuing chaos leads to the Avengers assembling again, this time of their own initiative._

Maria Hill sighed and passed a hand through her immaculate hairdo. She was afraid that grey hairs were starting to appear - working in Human Resources for Stark Industries while secretly still being Nick Fury's right-hand woman was an entire new level of stress that the brunette had never before experienced. And she'd seen a lot.

But this, this encrypted message lying on the desk in front of her was poised to make any stress she had ever previously experienced seem like a walk in the park.

"Jarvis?"

"Ms. Hill."

"Can you please send Natasha a message to come down to my office as soon as she can?"

"Of course." There was a pause. "Ms. Romanoff has been notified. The time it will take her to arrive is unknown."

"That's fine, thank you Jarvis."

Maria took a sip of her coffee and looked around her office. It was spacious, with large windows and despite being only on the fifth floor of the Tower, she still had a nice over the city. Not that she ever had time to contemplate the view.

Level 5 was the headquarters of Human Resources and the former SHIELD employee had quickly risen to become the manager of the entire department. The promotion came with a few perks - a private office with multiple rooms to her own disposal, and her very own coffee machine.

Followed by the clickety-clack of her heels, Maria walked down the narrow hallway behind her desk to one of her private rooms. She smoothed down her skirt, still finding it awkward to wear all day after having previously worn a tight leather uniform that had included pants. She personally considered it a very misogynistic practice that all female employees working for Stark Industries had to wear skirts and at least 1-inch heels. She was resolved to bring it up at the next board meeting.

She reached the last room, swiping her staff card to get in. It was a small room, but the plain walls made it seem bigger, the only furniture was a large table in the middle. A knock at the door interrupted her folded-arms, stern-look contemplation.

"Cronut?" The master assassin with the fiery red hair was leaning casually against the doorframe, wearing jeans and an over-sized hoodie and holding a grease-lined paper bag. "You didn't show up to our morning run and treat today."

"Thanks Tasha," Maria replied with an eager look in her eyes, reaching for the bag. "I was trying to avoid a momentary meltdown."

"Stark do something?"

"No," laughed Maria through a mouthful of delicious cronut. "I got a message from Fury."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "And I assume it wasn't just to congratulate you on your promotion."

"The bastard would be several months late anyway. But no, it's bad, Tash. And I'm not quite sure how to go about it." She wiped her mouth and threw the napkin and paper bag in the garbage bin beside the door.

Natasha shut the door with a click and walked over to the large window, peering out searchingly. Satisfied, she turned around to face Maria, arms crossed over her chest. "Go on."

"Did you ever have anything to do with Loki's sceptre after the Battle of New York?"

"No, not that I can remember," the redhead tossed back her curls, pursing her lips as she thought about the golden-staffed sceptre with the shining blue gem. "After I closed the portal I held on to it until SHIELD arrived. A gave it into custody of two of your men from the helicarrier and that was the last I saw of it. As far as I knew, SHIELD was going to do some tests on it and keep it safely locked away."

"We tested it in several different laboratories, all with inconclusive results. It was a project that would be on hold for a bit, then shipped off to another SHIELD facility to a different scientist for some more testing. Standard safety protocols, the works. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"And so the problem exactly is . . ."

Maria lowered here eyes. "SHIELD no longer exists."

The ex-agent nodded. "Which means the oversight of all its personnel, files, objects and bases no longer exists either."

"I blame myself, partly. I should have tried to pick up the pieces, bring some order into the chaos after Washington," said Maria, wringing her hands.

"You wouldn't have made a difference," Natasha stated bluntly. "The government and FBI were looking for heads to roll, and any interference on your part would've meant your end."

"I know. It's just hard to look at the mess of everything that was once SHIELD and remember how it used to be."

"Well some time off from constant near-death brushes is nice too."

For several months after the destructive events in Washington, Natasha Romanoff had been completely off the radar. Then one day she appeared at the Tower and appeared to have moved in, although she made sure that almost nobody was aware of her presence. She had eventually run into Maria during a morning jog, and the two had began to run together every morning, followed always by a stop at their favourite bakery that made the best cronuts in New York City.

"So what exactly did Fury say about the sceptre?" Natasha continued.

Maria made a face. "Not much, I'm afraid. Typical Nick Fury style. All it says is 'Loki's sceptre. Find it. Caution.'"

"Very detail-rich and explanatory."

"Exactly. And I don't want to assign this to any of my HR underlings. I also don't have the time or resources, so . . ."

"So that leaves a former SHIELD agent that currently has nothing to do."

Maria tried to say something, but Natasha brushed it aside. "Don't worry about it. I'll do it, might bring on Clint to help me. Trying to find out anything about SHIELD post-Washington is not going to be easy."

"You can use this room," the HR manager gestured. "And all of the resources which I have access to, of course."

The pristine white room soon turned into a detective's nightmare. Natasha had contacted Clint and persuaded him to come out of temporary retirement. He had grumbled profusely, but his occasional partner assumed that he was glad to be doing something two had put up a giant map of the world on the longer wall, covered with pins, thread, sticky notes and scribblings. Highlighted places meant there was some record of the sceptre once being there, and that number kept growing.

Natasha was most often at the computer, sifting through the millions of files she had dumped on the internet. With Maria's help, she was able to sort through them fairly quickly and decode any encrypted files. Anything of note was brought up on the projector.

Clint was generally found in the middle of a sea of paper. Anything that Natasha brought up, he cross-checked in the files that Maria had access to. Files from SHIELD that had been stored off-site and so survived the fall of the Triskelion.

Maria often walked in to check on their process and bring coffee and take-out orders. She'd cast an experienced eye over the map the projector, trying to help put the pieces together. She herself was a mine of information and was often able to point the two spies in the right track after hearing the name of a person or place.

The weeks dragged on to no avail. The map had remained unchanged for a while now and nobody was finding any new or relevant information. Natasha was staring moodily at the map, eyes narrowed, while Clint was making paper airplanes and shooting them over her head.

"We're not going to get any farther, Nat," Clint was saying, aiming another airplane at her. "We've searched and dug as much and as best as we could, but there's no paper or digital trail left to follow."

"But we still don't know anything." Natasha reached up a hand and caught the plane without turning around. "All we have are vague traces that all end in dead ends."

"So what's always been the next step?"

The redhead finally turned around, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "We go out there and start hunting."

"Exactly." Clint shot another plane at the map. "We pick a place and start there. Ask around, look around, and then move on to the next place."

Black Widow stared at the map for a moment longer, then at Hawkeye, and back at the map. "We're going to need reinforcements."

Steve Rogers was in his kitchen trying his hand making mashed potatoes and meatballs in gravy. Now that he often had more time on his hand, especially during his stays at the Tower, he was intent on learning how to cook with more than just the frying pan. He felt a strange draft of air. Turning around, he noticed that he was suddenly no longer alone in the kitchen.

"Smells good, Cap," Clint remarked, taking a seat at the small table.

"Got enough for three?" asked Natasha.

"Good to see you, Clint. I see you've decided to come out of hiding, Nat."

The redhead smiled. "Not quite. Clint and I aren't officially here."

"Except when it comes to mealtimes," added Clint. "I'm getting tired of constantly cooking for this one."

Steve checked the consistency of the gravy, added some salt and pepper to the mashed potatoes and wordlessly set two more plates on the table.

"So what's happening in the spy world that's bad enough for you to come to me?" When all three of them worked at SHIELD, it was only for the most serious of missions that involved stealth, espionage and a probable firefight, that all three of them were put on task together.

"Clint's cooking." Natasha helped herself to a generous serving of mashed potatoes, plopping the mass down on her plate with a satisfied look.

"Nat's witless attempt at humour," retorted Clint, accepting a cold beer from Steve.

After Steve had said grace, they began to eat, exchanging casual banter and small talk. It was obvious that the fall of SHIELD had left an emotional impact on all three, and none of them was willing to share what they had been up to in the past few months. They focused on reminiscing about old times, debating what Nick Fury was up to, and gossipping about the other Avengers.

For dessert, Steve brought out an apple pie from the freezer and heated up three pieces. They moved to the living room with their pie, and settled comfortable into the armchairs.

"So what's really going on with you two?"

The two spies exchanged looks. "You know that Maria's the new HR manager for Stark Industries?" Natasha began. When Steve nodded, she continued. "She received a message from Fury, telling her to find the whereabouts of Loki's sceptre. Apparently it had gone lost aterfer SHIELD fell and Fury seems to think it's important enough that we find it."

"That golden stick thing that Loki had?" Steve asked. "It's a powerful weapon. If it's gotten into the wrong hands . . ."

"It's an extremely dangerous weapon," Clint spoke up seriously. "It's what he used to mind control me and the others." He shuddered.

Steve looked worried. "And you've found it?"

"Trying to find it. We've hit a dead end."

"We've done all we can from here. We've got no choice left but to start searching out there. One place after the other."

"And we thought maybe you'd like to join us," Natasha said with a meaningful look. She was the only one who knew about Steve's side project that also kept him away from the Tower for day on end sometimes.

"Do you have some kind of a plan?" the captain asked.

"We were hoping that's were you'd come in," Clint replied, finishing off his apple pie. "We've done the research, now we need a clear plan of how to continue."

"Show me what you've got."

Several more weeks passed. Natasha, Clint and Steve began to steadily head form one highlighted location to the other, beginning with the United Sates and heading south into Central and South America. Maria Hill was their mission command, keeping the missions organized and making sure that money was constantly being funnelled to them. They had checked off the entire American continent with no more results than a few bruises and a broken rib for Clint, when they all came back to the Tower after following up on a promising lead in the mountains of the Austrian Alps.

They were arguing heatedly when Maria walked in to the room.

"This is much more serious than any of us thought, Nat."

"Clint's right. We can't keep going like this. We need to rethink our strategy."

"I just want to stay on the down low. This whole thing can quickly blow up into our faces if more people get involved and it gets public."

"Or we could get our asses kicked and wish we hadn't been so stupid."

"When have I ever been stupid?"

"Stubborn then, do you prefer that?"

"Alright, let's all take a break and calm down a notch or two," Maria barked in a commanding voice that brooked no arguments. "Captain, report on the situation."

"Nothing confirmed on the sceptre. But we've gathered new intelligence. We found a piece of paper authorizing transfer on the sceptre. No destination, but the signing officer was Jasper Sitwell."

Maria swore. "So you're saying Loki's death stick of doom is in Hydra's hands?"

"Basically. And we have no idea where they or the sceptre are."

"We need the others' help," Clint argued. "If we're dealing with Hydra, the three of us are outmanned."

"Which is exactly why bringing in the Avengers will escalate this to a level we don't want," countered Natasha.

Steve raised his hand, stopping the argument. "Commander?"

Maria crossed her arms. "I'm not an Avenger, so I don't have a say in this. But if you want my opinion . . ." she paused. "Hydra is no joke, and we all found that out the hard way. This isn't the moment to back down, but to strike. Hard and fast, and with everything we got."

Clint nodded, as Natasha frowned. Steve didn't say anything but a plan was beginning to form in his mind.

"You better have a really good excuse for dragging me out of the middle of designing my newest Iron Man paint scheme, Romanoff," Tony whined as he followed Natasha into the commons.

Clint and Bruce were already there, playing chess. The archer was cheating outrageously and the doctor was pretending not the notice because he'd been in a position to checkmate within the first three moves.

Out on the outdoor patio, Steve was looking up at the clear blue sky. He smiled in satisfaction as a couple dark thunderclouds began to gather suddenly. In a single flash of lighting, Thor appeared beside him. The two blonds clasped forearms as they greeted each other warmly.

"A good day to you all, my dear friends," Thor boomed as he walked inside. "It has been too long."

"Wait, did I miss something?" Tony asked, looking around. "Is it someone's birthday? Is it my birthday."

"I've called an emergency meeting," said Steve, following behind Thor. "Thank you all for coming. We have a bit of a situation on our hands."

Tony pouted. "So no party? Like we have to go back to work?"

Natasha elbowed him in the side. "This is serious Tony. Clint, Steve and I have been trying to chase down Loki's sceptre, and we've recently discovered that Hydra's gotten hold of it."

"Hydra?"

"The sceptre of Loki?"

"Can I have a drink?"

Everybody began to talk at once - asking questions (Bruce), looking confused (Thor), making smart-ass comments (Tony), firing back at smart-ass comments (Clint), getting rather angry (Natasha), and trying to answer questions and keep everyone in line (Steve).

Once everybody had settled down and Tony was on his second drink, Steve began to talk. "I know it's asking a lot, and we don't really know what exactly we're facing, but with SHIELD gone, there's no one else I consider more capable than going after this, than us Avengers.

"Loki's sceptre is not of Asgard, but it is not of Midgard either. It's powers should not be experimented with," Thor said. "I have my aid, Captain, until this matter be resolved.

Clint shrugged. "I was really hoping to retire actually, but what the hell, why not? I'm in."

"I'd like to help, but I don't know how safe it is to bring me along," said Bruce. "The Other Guy is still uncontrollable."

"We'll work something out," reassured Tony, clapping Bruce on the back. "We're a team, Doc. We're all in this together, right Red?"

With a roll of her eyes, Natasha assented. "You guys couldn't handle this on your own without me."

Steve smirked. "Slight exaggeration, but we do need you Nat. We need all of us."

"So where do we start?" Bruce wanted to know.

"With another drink," Tony answered, passing around glasses. "Let's get this party started."

* * *

 **A/N:** Another post-Winter Soldier one-shot, or me trying to fill in some MCU plot holes. Enjoy!


	13. The Middle of the Night

**The Middle of the Night**

 _In which evening fades into the night and each of the Avengers find themselves unable to sleep, battling their inner demons instead._

According to the social customs of American society, the span of time between midnight and 6am, give or take a few hours before and after, was dedicated to sleeping.

For most people this was a welcome time of day when the daily stress and worries for tomorrow could be put aside to let the body and mind relax. For the occupants of the Tower, however, this was the most dreaded time of day. The time when the mind could no longer be controlled and images of random thoughts flashed through their heads. The time when fears surfaced to drown out all other thoughts. The time of nightmares.

Steve was in bed, lying on his back and twisting uncomfortably on the all-too soft mattress. He twitched, flinching as he saw a bullet whiz past his ears behind closed eyes.

"Run Steve, run! They're coming!" Bucky yelled at his side as began to pull ahead.

Steve tried to keep up, but the faster his legs moved, the slower he ran. His blue, red and white uniform suddenly felt really baggy and loose and his helmet began to move from side to side, banging against his head. The shield began to weight more and more, until the weight of it made him stumble and he fell down. He was a back alley in Brooklyn, trying to lift the famous shield off the ground but it was too heavy; it wouldn't budge.

"Come on, you're Captain America aren't you? Show us how strong you are!" a voice jeered behind him.

Turning, Steve saw a nondescript man standing there. Suddenly the man began to grow wider and pull apart until there were two men. They kept splitting and multiplying until there was an entire army of them standing in that alley, all of them with Bucky's familiar face.

"Bucky? Why are you here?"

"I fell." The multitude spoke in unison, the words reaching small young man on the ground like a distant clamour. "Now it's your turn."

Peggy stepped forward from behind one of the Bucky's. Kneeling on the ground, she picked up Steve and brushed the dust off his clothes."

"I think the serum has stopped working, Peggy." There were tears in Steve's eyes. "I'm no longer Captain America."

"Being Captain America is about being a good man. Not a strong man," Peggy replied.

She leaned forward ad as Steve watched in growing horror, her pale skin peeled away to reveal a glowing red skull. Screaming in terror, Steve was pushed back and he suddenly found himself falling, falling endlessly. A hand reached down and he knew it was Bucky's but it was too late and he kept falling, falling, falling.

With a strangled gasp, Steve awoke. Drenched in sweat, he looked around him in confusion, not recognizing where he was at first. Looking to the side, he saw a glow-in-the-dark Captain America bobblehead. It was a hideous thing, but it immediately brought back to mind the huge grin on Tony's face when he had given it to him for his birthday with the other Avengers crowding around.

He smirked, and the remains of the nightmare were pushed to the side, replaced by thoughts of his current teammates. The feelings of failure faded for the moment, though they would only return stronger the next time. Steve shifted around for a bit in the bed,, then gave up and lay down on the hard wooden floor, cradling his head on his arms and falling asleep soundly.

A floor below, Thor Odinson was staring moodily at the mural of Asgard on the wall of his bedchamber. He had gotten a painter of Asgard to create a mirror image of his home realm, and then a painter from Midgard to recreate it on a much larger scale across the wall. The bed and furnishings had been custom-designed to replicate Asgardian furniture although Thor sometimes felt like it was all just cheap imitations.

Having trouble sleeping was new for the god of thunder. Back in his youth, a day of fighting and feasting long into the night had often ended up with him falling into such a deep slumber that he had slept away most of the next day. But now that those reckless days were behind him, and he took the burden of responsibility more seriously, sleep was often difficult to obtain easily.

Leaning against a gilded column, Thor closed his eyes. Voices, familiar voices, reached his ears and drew him away.

"Can I play too?"

"No Loki, you always ruin our games. Go away."

"You must show yourself worthy of Mjolnir. You must show yourself worthy to be my son."

Shaking his head and blinking fiercely, Thor tried to dispel the voices. But weariness drove his lids closed and the voices drew nearer again.

"Why can't you stay, Thor? You're always gone for so long and I never know if you're coming back or not."

"I'm sorry Jane, But I have responsibilities in all nine realms and thus cannot stay at your side, though our love always calls me back."

"What about our love, blondie?"

"I shall miss you too, Darcy. Try and keep your fingers off the trigger of your taser if you can."

"No promises there."

"Go away!" Thor growled at the invisible faces around him.

He stared around the chamber, truly magnificent despite not quite at Asgardian standards, and he felt so alone, so out of place. He had failed his brother, failed father, even failed his people. And he had failed Jane.

Thinking of the sweet, highly intelligent and occasionally slightly frazzled scientist brought a warm smile to his lips. He checked the time: it would be about 11pm on the West Coast where she currently was. On the wall beside the wide door of his bedchamber there was an actual landline because much to Tony's exasperation, all digital phones kept frying when Thor tried to use them. Something about being laden with high-voltage currents . . . all Thor understood was that his telephone would get him through to Jane.

"Jane, is it you? Yes, it is late but I can't sleep. Are you working right now?"

It was very unusual for Natasha Romanoff not to be able to fall asleep. The highly trained operative had conditioned her body ins such a way that she could fall asleep anywhere, anytime within five minutes. Tonight however, was not the case. There was a running myth at SHIELD that the Black Widow did not sleep at all. That was also not the case. True, she didn't need much sleep and going a day or two without rest under certain circumstances would not affect her very much, but Natasha did indeed need sleep.

She cursed aloud in several different languages and began pacing around. Maybe the physical exercise would ward off the waking dreams.

Dreams or nightmares also generally never occurred to Natasha. When she told her body to sleep, her mind shut down until she woke up and was ready to go again. There was no room for images to haunt her sleep. When she was awake though . . . . Most of the time it happened at times like this when she couldn't sleep, but on occasion at random times during the day, a slew of images, noises and smells would assault her senses. The reality around her would fade and she'd be transported back into a memory, reliving what had happened again and again, but each time from a different perspective.

The smell of blood and burning hair suddenly reached her nose. Natasha sat down on the ground, placing her hands over her eyes in a futile attempt to unsee what was inevitably coming.

Srebrenica. 1994. She shouldn't be here. Her mission target was in Sarajevo but she had been forced to take a detour because of the massive troop movements in the area. She had ended up in a place that was about to be a front row spectator to a mass genocide.

She was looking through the eyes of a young girl. A terrified young girl clutching a tattered teddybear, crunched down in a back alley to hide from the bad men that had shot firm from their guns and made her parents fall down and not get up. Her hair was singed at the tips from having crawled beneath a burning beam to get out of the house. Natasha felt every scared thought, every fear had become her own.

Through tear-streaked eyes she suddenly caught a glimpse of herself - a tall redhead creeping through the shadows. A house across the alley suddenly burst into flames, and the red hair flamed dangerously. The stench of burning hair once again filled the air. The figure in the shadows suddenly looked down the alley and met the eyes of the little girl. For a long moment, nobody moved. Trapped inside the girl, Natasha implored herself silently to come and help, to save this little girl.

Rough voices came closer and broke the moment. When Natasha raised her eyes again through the little girl, the redhead was long gone. Instead, two men stood before her.

"This one's still alive."

"Not for long," the other chuckled evilly. "Let's have some fun with her while her body's still warm and soft."

The world faded away into black and pain, and then nothingness.

Breaking heavily, Natasha got up, legs trembling slightly. She breathed in, breathed out, steadying her heart rate as she had learned to do.

Long ago, when she had turned from the path of destruction and assassination that she had been on, she had vowed to make the world a better place for young girls. But not only had she failed that little girl - raped and killed before her eight birthday, she had failed herself.

Wrapping herself snuggly in her bathrobe, she made her way up to the commons. A single candle was burning on a small wooden table, filling the room with the warm soft smell of beeswax. A figure sat in the dark, the glow of the candle surrounding his silhouette.

"You miss her?" Natasha asked softly. The other Avengers just thought that Clint Barton had an affinity to honey and all things made from beeswax, but Natasha knew that Laura Barton kept a few beehives of her own and made her own candles and other products.

"Every damn day."

"Want to talk about it?"

Clint looked up as the fellow agent sat on the couch beside him and curled up her legs. "No."

"Good. Me either."

The blond-haired archer was glad of the redhead's company. They never talked about these moments, but then they didn't need to. It was a good enough feeling just to know that there was someone else who truly understood, someone who had gone through the same horrors. Both of them had seen and done things that could make war veterans cringe. They had reconciled themselves to that fact. But in the middle of the night, when ungrounded fears ruled the hour, it was good to feel the presence of someone at one's side.

Despite having acknowledged Natasha's presence, Clint's thoughts were far away. They were somewhere in the Midwest, on a farm hidden away from all prying arms. The farm that guarded his most precious secret: his beloved wife and two kids.

Clint knew why most agents were single and remained single. Having a family was not just difficult to manage on the schedule of a secret agent, it was also a high security risk. How many nights did he spend awake, thinking about what if's? What if someone found out about Laura and the kids and killed them for revenge or kidnapped them for leverage? What if one of one of the kids had an accident and he was somewhere on a deep cover assignment? What if he never returned from a mission?

What if's haunted Clint's nights. When loyalty to SHIELD and his family threatened to dived him in two. When he couldn't bear to think about what would happen to his family if he failed them.

"I don't know how long I can keep going, Nat."

"Well you've got a third of the candle still, so I'd say at least until 3am."

"So I keep burning candles at night? Until when?" Clint's voice cracked slightly.

"You'll know when, Clint. Until your heart is no longer divided in two."

He made a face. "I better ask Laura for more candles then."

Natasha moved closer, leaning her head against his shoulders. "I can't say I'm upset. I'd like my partner around for a bit longer."

"You don't need anyone, Nat, but thanks for that nice sentiment. You know our guest room is always there for you too."

"When it's not being used as storage area for your tools," laughed Natasha but then grew serious again. "I appreciate it, but you know I'm not the sedentary type. I've got to keep moving."

"Mhmmm," Clint murmured, but his eyes were closed and he seemed far away again.

Natasha grabbed a throw from beside the couch and dropped it over him, then took another for herself. Snuggling into the sofa, she was asleep in five minutes.

Two floors below, a solitary figure was sitting at a large wooden desk, busily writing away. A steaming mug of tea and a bottle of scotch sat beside a pile of crumpled papers. Bruce Banner alternated between the two drinks - taking a small sip from the tea and then a large swig from the bottle of scotch.

The doctor was not necessarily a night owl, but he rarely slept for longer than two or three hours at a time. More like prolonged naps at various intervals throughout the day.

Frustrated, Bruce crumpled another piece of paper and threw it to the growing heap. He was working on a new formula for his newly developed anti-stress serum. So far all it did was lower the heart rate to an undetectable one beat a minute, but he was hoping he could tweak it so that it could do more. It was just another desperate and futile attempt to salvage some normalcy to his life and restore it to just Dr. Bruce Banner.

He could feel the presence of the Other Guy, lurking just beneath the seams of his presence, simmering to be released. It was the definition of a living nightmare: always on edge and trying to maintain the slightest veneer of control over a situation that could go from just bearable to utter destruction in a heartbeat.

The bottle was picked up again, and put down after a few very lengthy seconds; it was already leaning towards empty and the night was long from being over. Bruce tried not to feel sorry for himself, he really did try. After all, there were a lot of enviable things in his life: he was a respected academic in his field and working in a lab that scientists could only dream of. Tony's generousity (and seemingly bottomless funds of money) gave Bruce access whatever things he needed or wanted.

But what he truly wanted, no, what he craved, was escape. Escape from this nightmarish existence that he found himself in. When this literal other being was somewhere in his head and constantly trying to take over his body. It was a struggle for control every single second, every minute, every day. In truth, Bruce didn't sleep longer because he was afraid to. Afraid that if he slept for too long, he would lose the fight and the Other Guy would come out.

The funny thing about alcohol was that the Other Guy seemed to get drunk a lot quicker than Bruce. The green monster was a sleepy drunk, and a fine bottle of scotch could keep him nicely subdued for a bit. Ironically, Bruce Banner was an angry drunk. He'd get frustrated - at himself, at the world, at everything.

At the lowest moments, he considered the fact that he hadn't come up with a solution as a failing of himself as a doctor. He began not only to question his very existence, but also second-guessing his intellect and all of the work he had done.

A deep-throated rumble came out of Bruce's mouth, startling him for a second. With a look of hopeless depression in his eyes, he looked at the mound of incorrect unsuccessful formulas. He glanced at the bottle of scotch - there was still about a third of the molten amber liquid in it and it was far too good of a scotch to go to waste.

He picked up the bottle and shuffled over to a large beanie chair. Sitting down and making himself comfortable, he began to drink away himself and the Other Guy into oblivion.

On the floor above, just below the commons, Tony Stark was moving around restlessly. Despite having custom-made a truly giant bed, it was still not enough room for the playboy to move around. He wasn't having any fun this night though, in fact he wasn't even awake. He had fallen asleep a few hours ago beside Pepper, holding her in a gentle embrace, but the strawberry blond had awoken when he began to move from side to side and flail his arms around him.

Pepper knew better than to wake him. She had tried that once and it hadn't ended well. Whatever assailants had been attacking Tony in his nightmare, he mistook Pepper for one and tried to strangle her. Now, the strawberry blond retreated to her own smaller bedroom, accessible through a set of large French doors. She always kept them open a crack, so that she could hear Tony if need be.

Tony was still rolling back and forth across the bed, battling enemies that only he could see.

The sky was a weird colour. Like a dark green tinged with purple streaks. Iron Man stood out like a bright beacon amidst the gloom, a shining vision in red and gold.

"Is that all you got you filthy fiends?" he roared in defiance, his magnificent voice projecting out into the vastness.

He kept fighting. He fought until he couldn't fight anymore and then he fought some where. He was constantly inventing new things on the spot, and using them to repel the enemy. Strange contraptions and devices that would hold the faceless globs at bay for a few moments. But no matter how much he thought or created or did, it was just not enough. He didn't know how long he had been fighting. Maybe hours, maybe days, maybe months. In the end, the sheer numbers of his opponents brought him down. Because he was alone. The great Iron Man had nobody fighting by his side. Tony knew he had failed, and he suddenly find himself falling. He screamed.

"It's okay, Tony, I'm here. You're alright."

Tony woke to Pepper's voice. When she saw that he was back in the present, she sat down beside him and held him tightly in her arms, rocking him back and forth gently. "It's alright, you're not alone, I'm here," she soothed him. "It was just a nightmare, you'll be fine. Night always fades into day."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much for your continued support - for reviewing, commenting and favouriting! Also, who's seen the trailer for Infinity War?! I've been playing it on repeat because it looks absolutely amazing. So excited!


	14. Tasers and Shiny Things

**Tasers and Shiny Things**

 _In which Jane Foster is invited to the Tower by Tony and Thor, inevitably bringing her intern with her as well. A decision which would leave the entire Tower unsettled for a good long time._

"Holy shit, it's ginourmous! What'll happen if we got lost? Do you think it has an indoor mall?" Mouth open in astonishment, Darcy Lewis let go of her suitcase and let it clatter to the ground. She was wearing tight blue jeans, black combat boots, an oversized sweater and a long beige coat open in front. Haphazardly placed on her head was a knitted maroon hat.

"I just hope there's a coffee machine," Jane Foster grumbled.

The cab driver that had picked up the two women at the airport as unloading her suitcases and she walked over to begin giving him precise directions on how to handle her scientific equipment.

"Why'd you bring all that stuff anyway? I thought we're here on vacation."

"Just help me with this stuff, Darce? Jane demanded, getting annoyed with her chatty intern. "

Yes Ms. Grumpy Pants. You need some sleep. I refuse to work in these kinds of conditions when you're in such a bad mood." Nevertheless, Darcy began to help the cab driver unload Jane's luggage as the scientist fluttered around like a nervous hen.

When all seven suitcases and three duffel bags had been unloaded, Darcy stared at the pile, then at Jane's pointed glance. "What? You know I don't carry things. That's why I have an intern."

In that instant, a body hurtled down from the top of the Tower, landing between the two women. Darcy shrieked in surprise while a bright smile lit up Jane's face.

"Darcy," Thor greeted the brunette. "Woah, put that away please. You've already hit me once too many with that terrible little device."

"God of thunder," Darcy responded, reluctantly slipping her taser back into her pant pocket. "Hey, you have muscle-y arms. Not that I've stared, but I have noticed. Can you fly all this stuff up?"

She never got an answer for Thor was already lip-locked with his lady love. Darcy rolled her eyes and twirled her gum on a finger, looking around the Tower grounds with interest. She strolled towards the entrance and began to engage the stern-looking security guard in a conversation.

"You'd think they hadn't seen each other in years, but no, it was barely a week ago that he was in London. I guess before that they hadn't really seen in each for two years so maybe they're catching up on time lost. They're at it quite enthusiastically though, don't you think?"

The guard didn't respond, keeping his eyes trained forward and doing his best to ignore the mindless chatter.

"Personally I think it was Thor's idea to invite us here, and that the science-y sounding invite from Tony Stark is just a cover. Although I don't mind, I mean I get a week of vacation basically. The perks of being an intern, and there aren't many, I can tell you that. DId you ever intern somewhere? Is this an internship or are you paid for looking really bored and stupid?"

The guard didn't respond, but whether it was because he was focused on his duties or just too slow to respond to Darcy's word attack was impossible to tell.

Eventually Darcy tired of her monologue and ventured inside the Tower. She had to sign several documents - none of which she actually read, her picture was taken, and she was given a key card.

"All this high-tech shit and you still have key cards? Seriously? What about iris scans or voice recognition?"

"As a guest, you receive a key card, miss. It's also a GPS tracker so that we're aware of your whereabouts at all times." This second security guard could've been the twin of the one on the outside. Except that he talked. "Last question, do you carry any weapons?"

"Nope. Wait, is a taser considered a weapon? Because it's more for like self-defense. Or when people freak me out."

The guard handed her another form. "You may keep it on you, but please sign this weapons release form."

"Taser. Not a weapon. More like an accessory Like some carry around nail files in their purses," Darcy protested but signed it anyway.

She spent the next few hours wandering around the Tower. She was very happy with her guest suite, especially the fully-stocked bar fridge and TV across from her bed. Perfectly suited for some binge-watching in the coming days.

To her great disappointment, there was no indoor shopping mall, as JARVIS told her. The AI quickly became her new best friend. He ever complained that she talked too much, and always answered every question that she had. It wasn't until her cell phone buzzed loudly that she realized how much time had buzzed.

"Oh, Jane wants to know where I am. In the elevator," Darcy texted back. "Where are you?"

"Ms. Foster is currently on floor 54 in the laboratory," JARVIS informed her.

"Thanks, then never mind that, Jane, ignore that text. Wait, I'll tell her I'm coming." She quickly sent another message and then told JARVIS to take her to the lab.

Jane was in the middle of a very scientific-sounding discussion with the resident doctor, Bruce Banner. "It's the size of the singularity that has an impact on the speed and strength configuration of my phase metre. The math needs to be right," Jane was saying.

"Ugh, boring science stuff," Darcy interrupted the two, walking up to them. "Hi, I'm Darcy. Jane's intern." She extended a hand to the doctor.

"Bruce. Nice to meet you. You're interning for Ms. Foster."

"Yeah, for college credit. I don't get paid or anything."

"What college do you go to?"

"Culver University."

"Oh really? I taught there, a few courses in biochemistry."

Darcy fiddled with her hair. "Yeah, I avoided anything that involved actual studying. I majored in Poli Sci."

"Political Science? How did you end up interning for an astrophysicist?"

"She was the only applicant," Jane sighed. "But sh'es good with tools and computers, and she has an for detail."

"I also keep her fed and make sure she showers regularly," Darcy added.

Jane laughed in embarrassment. "It's not that bad. I'm not that bad. I mean I do shower regularly. Without her help."

The good doctor didn't quite know how to respond to that, and glanced at his lab notes with great interest.

Darcy began to fidget with the various objects lying around on the table. "Oooh, what's this shiny thing here?" She reached for a long, slender, stick-like object with a copper coil at one end.

"No don't touch that!" Bruce warned.

He was too late. A laser-like beam shot out from the one end, searing every object in its path. A table crashed to the floor, cut in half, as did several shelves. The lights in the lab flickered, and a metallic, tangy smell filled the air.

"Holy shit!" Darcy had jumped back, hands up protesting her innocence. "That's a major safety hazard. You should have warning signs up or something."

"And you should use your brain," a snarky voice spoke behind her. "Do you always touch everything you can get your hands on?"

"Yes," Jane replied unfazed. She hadn't even twitched during the entire episode, long immune to Darcy's destructive capacities.

"It was shiny!" Darcy protested.

"What's your point, Intern?" Tony Stark asked, affronted in a way only a billionaire could be.

"Why does there have to be a point?"

"You broke my stuff. There's gotta be a good reason."

"Ummm, hello. You don't just leave super dangerous stuff lying around. You could kill someone like that!"

"And you weren't about to fry to death everybody in this lab."

"Accidentally."

"No excuse."

Jane finally stepped in to stop the argument between the belligerent two. Meanwhile, Bruce was trying to clean up a bit. "Darcy, why don't you step out for a bit. Maybe head up to the commons. Thor said we'd all eat dinner together."

"Thank you. I'll be glad to leave this death lab." Twirling around, the brunette's baggy sweater caught on a protruding object and knocked it to the ground.

"And don't think about coming back!" Tony yelled after her. "I'll have Jarvis block your access to the labs!"

"See if I care!" retorted Darcy. Fully put out, she huffed as the elevator doors closed in front of her face. "What an arrogant asshole!"

"If you're referring to Mr. Stark, then you're not the first to call him that," JARVIS commented drily. His master's antics had never fazed the AI. D

arcy just huffed again and pulled out her iPod. she selected her "Jane's friends are weird" playlist and let the music blast out any and all bad feelings.

The sight of the spacious common area immediately brightened her mood - especially the kitchen area. From her Gran, she had learned how to cook and bake, and that was one of the main reasons that Jane kept her around. For the brilliant scientist was liable to burn water if she ever tried her hand at making food. It was always been the intern's job to cook for Jane, and Erik and Ian, and Darcy had always done a very good job.

Snooping around and opening the cupboards one at a time, Darcy inspected the contents of the Avenger's shared kitchen. "Expired cereal. Moldy bread. Eww, even moldier fruit. Why is fruit in the cupboard anyway? I have no idea what this once was. Ammunition, bullet casings, more ammunition . . . an arrowhead? What the hell? Oh look! A can of peanut butter! Finally some actual f- oh, oh! Oh, no that is disgusting! This looks like a science experiment gone really really wrong."

"Probably. Tony has a bad habit of using this kitchen as a lab extension even though Pepper has told him a million times not to."

Darcy started at the unexpected voice that came from somewhere high above her and dropped the peanut butter jar. Unidentifiable sludge that smelled worse then a Jane Foster who hadn't showered or changed clothes for a week spilled all over the counter. "Who's there?" Darcy demanded.

"Clint. Or you can call me Hawkeye," the voice replied.

"I'm not calling you anything until I see you. Where are you? Come here."

"As the lady commands." A rope dropped suddenly from the three-story ceiling and a man with closely-cut blond hair slid down to the floor beside the kitchen island. The rope was drawn back up, and Darcy thought she saw a crow's nest-like platform carefully concealed below the ceiling.

"Oh you're the purple Avenger, right? Hi, I'm Darcy."

"What?"

"Well you know, all the Avengers have got a colour. That's how I know you guys. Hey can you tell me if this is a kitchen or some kind of garbage disposal area?"

Clint chuckled. "Well Pepper once made sure there were weekly grocer deliveries but very few us can cook so most of it kept going bad . . ." Darcy pointed at the rotten mass of some kind of unidentifiable fruit. "That's probably several years old."

"The ammo?"

"Well if there's no food in the cupboard, we might as well use them for something. I thin k we once made soup and Steve found a few bullets in his soup bowl."

Darcy wished she could say she was shocked but after having lived in Jane's trailer where dirty dishes ended up in the cupboards she wasn't surprised. "This yours?" She held up the arrowhead.

Clint grabbed it, stroking it almost lovingly. "That's where it went. I thought I'd lost it forever."

"Well I'm going to cook dinner so I'm going to need food. You can go shopping while I clean this up." Darcy began to type madly on her phone. "What's on your number? I'll send you my list."

Clint gave her his digits and raised his eyebrows at the very extensive list. "How'd you type this so fast?"

The college student shrugged. "I'm a fast typer. And don't forget anything!"

"Yes ma'am." The archer saluted mockingly, earning a stuck-out tongue from the young woman.

It took the Darcy the entire time that Clint was grocery shopping to clean up the kitchen. Not only did she clean her own mess, she also scrubbed out the cupboards, the fridge, and the stove. There was an unfamiliar smell of actual clean hanging in the air when Clint returned. The Avenger's normal solution was to spray Febreeze.

"Do you guys not have a janitorial staff or something?" Darcy asked indignantly. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and she'd taken off her sweater to reveal a faded t-shirt of all the Avengers on the front.

"This is our space. Nobody except us and our invited guests have clearance. Nice shirt." He began to unpack the bags.

Darcy was suitably impressed that he correctly knew which items went in the fridge and which in the cupboard. She mentioned it to Clint.

He shrugged. "I actually do know how to cook. Steve can too."

"Can what?"

Darcy jumped again and a taser was in her hands before anyone could blink. "You people really need to stop sneaking up on me. Hi, I'm Darcy."

"Steve Rogers, my pleasure. I passed Tony earlier and was grumbling about some smart-ass brown-haired menace. Did you try and taser him too?"

"I wish I had," Darcy retorted. "Hey, it's an occupational hazard being around Avengers - you get jumpy! Do you know how many times I've almost been killed since I met Thor?"

"Well Darcy, why don't you put the taser down - gently - and we'll all get to work cooking a big meal," Clint spoke softly with his hands up, palms forward. His trained eyes had immediately noticed that Darcy's taser was top notch - not only really powerful, but also with a really sensitive trigger.

The brunette conceded. "Alright well I was thinking caesar salad, then spaghetti with different sauces and for dessert I'm making Gran's special blueberry pie. Someone can make the salad - at least three large bowls because I know how much Thor eats and someone can started on the marinara sauce. I need the onions and tomatoes chopped . . ."

The two Avengers immediately got to work, letting Darcy boss then around with no fuss at all. It was also a lot less effort to just let her chat away. Apparently there was no such thing as awkward silence where Darcy was concerned.

The absolute giant pot of simmering spaghetti had just been drained and its contents divided into several smaller pots when the rest of the dinner guests began to file into the kitchen.

Thor and Jane being the smart ones (aka the ones who had already lived with Darcy) headed straight to the table. If it was one thing the intern/head cook did not appreciate, it was people loitering around the kitchen to stare at the food and even worse, try and sneak some to taste.

Natasha and Tony however, the first being a professional spy and thus inherently curious and stealthy and the latter who was really just an annoying busybody most of the time, approached Darcy. She was giving the pot of alfredo sauce a final stir and checking the progress of the pie in the oven.

"What's cooking, Taser Girl?" Tony asked in a voice louder than necessary.

Before anybody could react, Darcy had her teaser in her hand (while still stirring the pot with the other). Surprised to see Natasha so close, whom she had not heard coming, she pressed the trigger. The redhead blitzed to the side in an instant, avoiding the shot but providing a clear sightline to the billionaire behind her who dropped like a rock.

Jane shook her head and laid her hands over her face as Thor rubbed her back comfortingly. Clint was laughing while Steve was trying really hard not to. Bruce stood wide-eyed at his seat, doing breathing exercises, Natasha was on high alert, hands on her concealed weapons. And Darcy? Darcy had calmly put away her taser and brought the finished sauce to the table.

"I got freaked out. I told you not to scare me," she said by way of apology.

"It's true," Thor added with a smirk. "Freaky things get tasered. It's best to act calm around Lady Lewis."

"You should know."

"I do know. And it was a most unpleasant experience but it quickly taught me the error of my ways. I think the Man of Iron will also be more careful now."

"If he ever gets up," Clint chortled. He snapped a few pictures of Tony sprawled awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen floor.

"Oh it'll wear off. He'll be in time for dessert. Now eat. The food is getting cold."

When Darcy and Jane left a week later to go to Jane's newest assigned station, Tony called an emergency Avengers meeting to discuss the situation of the "crazy taser girl". He was all for banishing her from any and all Avengers facilities, but because of her excellent cooking and cleaning skills, which even Tony had to concede to, the final decision was that Darcy Lewis was not banned from the Tower, but it was advisable to invite her sparingly with as much time as possible in between visits.

* * *

 **A/N:** Darcy is a force of nature. I wish she had more screen time in the movies because nobody can handle her sass. Or taser.


	15. Peggy's Journal

**Peggy's Journal**

 _In which Steve begins to read some of Peggy's old journals of what happened to the agent after the war. It came as no surprise to him that his girl had been literally kicking some ass._

Steve Rogers leaned against the wall of the elevator, trying to fight back the tears that threatned to spill over his cheeks. It was always difficult ot return from a visit to Meadowvale Retirement Centre without feeling emotionally drained. So many what if's and regrets hung in the air, almost clouding the joyous fact that Margaret Carter, his beloved Peggy, was still alive.

At least once a month, Steve made the trip to New York to visit his girl. Despit ebeing a white-haired widow, she would always be his girl. He held on to that as tightly as he held on to his old pocketwatch with her faded picture still inside. He drew it out of his grey pleated pants and flippe dopen the top. The tiny image of her soflt brown locks and faint smile was the only tangible item he had left of what were otherwise jsut precious memories.

"How is Ms. Carter today, Mr. Rogers?" JARVIS inquired politely. To no discredit to her husband, Peggy was always referred to by her maiden name.

Steve slipped the watch back into his pocket with a sigh and straightened his suit jacket. He was always dressed to the nines when visiting Peggy - as if he were about to go out on a date of dinner and dancing. "She's good. As strong and stubborn as ever, although her episodes are becoming more frequent."

"She sounds like a formidable woman."

"She was. She is. Did you know that she knew your namesake, Edwin Jarvis, Howard's butler?"

"Unfortunately I never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Jarvis, but Mr. Stark always spoke fondly of the man. Apparently he was like a second father in the frequent absences of Howard Stark."

"Peggy spoke about him today. How he helped her ona few missions and she seemed to regard him very highly," said Steve. He had been fascinated to hear about the real-life Jarvis, who had evidently served as Tony's inspiration for the AI.

"The elevator has arrived at the floor of the commons area, Mr. Rogers," JARVIS informed him. The door had been open for a minute already, but its occupant seemed not to have noticed.

"Ah, yes, thank you."

Heading to the bar a floor above the kitchen area, Steve placed a carefully wrapped parcel on the high, narrow table. After pouring himself an Irish coffee - one of Peggy's favourite, and the only way Howard ever drank his coffee - he sat down on one of the bar stools. With reverance, he pulled open the string and then delicately removed the brown paper wrapping. Peggy had given the package to him at the end of their visit.

"I have no more use for them, Steve," she had said, coughing slightly. The visit had taken its toil on her. "I'll be damned if any federal agency getrs a hand on them. I know you'll keep them safe."

"Of course I wil," he had replied, taking her frail hands gently between his own.

Now, curious to see the actual contents, Steve removed the final layer to reveal three, well-worn and tattered journals. The leather covers were engraved with the familiar eagle of SSR and the initials MC were engraved at the bottom. A tear did run down his cheek now, splattering on the journal cover and leaving a darker mark. He could smeel Peggy's familiar scent - roses and gunpowder.

Flipping open the first of the journals, he turned to the first entry. There was only a year and a place in the top right corner: 1945 New York. A picture of Peggy Carter with her SSR uniform had been slipped inside. Steve looked at the beautiful woman in faded sepia ink for a long time, caressing it with his thumb. He began to read.

 _The SSR has undergone several changes since the end of the war. We're now based out of New York, with our office hidden beneath the cover of a phone company. How I'm supposed to masquerade as an agent in disguise of a phone operator is still a big question for me. The entire secrecy has never been my style. During the war we were an officially recognized division of the army. Now we're acting like some federal agency. Whatever the case, I absolutely love New York. None of the drabbiness of London. I've always been fascinated by this growing metropole and I'm looking forward to settling down here on a more permanent basis. I've been searching for places to stay but as I've been told I need to stay under the radar, I've been scrolling through newspaper adverts searching for someone willing to share a flat._

 _Apparently New York is the city of opportunity and new starts. Exactly what I need._

The following entry was slightly less optimistic in tone.

 _Those ignorant bastards! The very nerve of those, those wankers!_ (Steve blushed slightly at the language. His mother would have been apalled at Peggy's choice of words.) _I spent the entire miserable day making coffee and getting lunch orders. Apparently the other MALE agents consider me some sort of extension of the janitorial staff and think I'm there for their own personal use as a . . . house servant! They can make their own damn coffee, thank you very much! I am a highly trained special agent with several years of field experience in the actual war! Some of these newly-minted agents have never even left the East Coast of the United States. And they consider themselves more qualifed than me.I was tempted to show them how bloody qualifed I really was, but didn't want to beat up the entire office staff on my first day. They've got it coming through, those baby-faced bastards that aren't even men enough to grow a bloody beard._

"What are you reading, Spangles? Dummies Guide to the 21st century?" A hand and wrist wearing a gold-plated watch with encrusted diamonds shot around the sitting figure to grab the journal.

"Give that back, Tony," Steve demanded, highly annoyed and angry.

"Well someone's got your tights in a twist. What's this, a diary? Yours? Who's MC?" asked Tony, looking at the front and rifling throuigh the pages.

Steve clenched his jaw and stood up, reaching for the precious book.

"Uh uh, wait. Howard Stark? What's this? 'An egomaniac bastard who can't keep it his pants.' Charming description."

"The ressemblance is most remarkable," said Steve in a dangerously calm voice.

"Ah, now I get it. MC stands for Margaret Carter, doesn't it? My old man spoke about her as much as he did about you. 'Feisty little wench' he used to say, I believe."

"This journal is none of your business, Tony. Get your hands of it." Steve finally managed to swipte it out of Tony's hands.

"My sincere apologies," replied Tony mockingly. "It's gotta be weird having a 100-year old girlfriend though, no? Pepper told me she's ina nursing home in the city. What do you for fun, stroll around in wheelchairs?"

"We talk about the good old days before Howard had any children."

"You wound me, Cap. You know, I think there's some pictures of her in an old archive of dad's. I'll try and find them for you."

Steve's anger vanished instantly and he sank back down on the stool. "I would appreciate that very much, thank you Tony." He drew a weary hand threw his hair. "I had so little time with her, and now she's growing weaker every day. There's so little I actually know about her."

Tony shifted his weight awkwardly. He was good at hiding his feelings beneath layers of sarcasm and a flippant attitude. But when it came time to be sincere, he often didn't know what to do. "Well I'm sure I can find that old box hiding in some dusty cover. Want another coffee?"

He poured Steve another cup, then poured himself a generous glass of whisky. "Enjoy your reading," he added as he left Steve with his nose back in the journal.

 _The last time I felt this right about doing something, I was helping steve disobey a direct order and go behind enemy lines to rescue the captured men of the 107th. Somehow doing the right thing always ends up with me on the other side of the law. I know I'm right about Howard Stark though. That man may be an egomaniac bastard who can't keep it in his pants, but he's not a traitor. Neither am I, although I'm currently running around New York with the archetype of a British butler, trying not only to hide my actions from the public and Leviathan, but also my own agency._

 _I sometimes wonder what the rewards of all my hard work and dedication are. I'm constantly undermined and undervalued at the SSR - given nothing but the dredges of secretarial tasks to do. I don't have any friends who I can trust with the truth or who'll even believe me, and everybody I've ever gotten even remotely close to has gone off and damn died._ (The ink on the paper was slightly smudged at that spot, and Steve suspected that Peggy's guard had cracked slightly.) _I'm quite cross with Michael at the moment. If my dear brother hadn't gone off to the war and gotten himself killed, I would be long married and working a safe and stable job as a codebreaker. But no, he had to give me one final push to accept the offer from the SOE and become an agent._

 _I really should blame Steve as well. Another death that never should have happened and that spurred me to stay with the SSR and carry on his legacy. The consequences of that decision have been hard, which is why I'm sitting here, icing my sore muslces from jumping onto a moving car and hoping my ears recover from the concussive blast of an exploding factory, wondering if it's truly been worth it._

It pained Steve to read the desolation and agony in Peggy's words. His journey to becoming Captain America had been anything but easy either, but after he had become the tall, strong, good-looking super soldier, admired by men and women alike, he had enjoyed a life of privilege. It was hard to understand what it would have been like for Peggy - a highly intelligent, highly skilled agent - working in a field where she was neither fully accepted or tolerated.

"I should have been there for her," he murmurred to himself, voice heavy with remorse. "I should've shown up to our dance."

"Talking to yourself?" Steve turned to see Pepper standing at the top of the stairs and smiling at him. "How's Peggy?"

"She's . . . she's dying, Pepper," Steve blurted out, his voice cracking. "Her body is slowly failing her and it's just wrong to see her like that. She used to be so . . . so strong . . . so much larger than life."

Pepper poured herself a coffee as well and grabbed the stool beside Steve. "Tell me about the Peggy you remember."

"She was fearless. Undaunted by anything, and she held her ground against everybody. The first time I saw here, one of the other recruits tried to make a move and she kneed him right in the groin." Steve chuckled at the memory. "He dropped like a rock and I never saw anybody try to chat her up or touch her the wrong way."

"She sounds like an amazing woman."

"I've never met anybody else like her," replied Steve softly. "She was a fighter. She always stuck to her principles and to what her gut instict told her was right. It wasn't always easy, especially when she faced opposition, but she never ceded any ground, and in the end she always came out on top."

Pepper smiled. "I can see why you fell for her. You two are very much alike."

"She was one of hte only people who believed in me when I was still a small scrawny kid from Brooklyn."

They sipped from their coffees for a bit in silence. Peper was thinking of the right words to say. Steve didn't deserve simple platitudes; he needed a reminder that all was not as dark as it seemed.

"Then you should do the same for her," she said finally. Steve looked at her questioningly.

"Show her that despite her age and weakness now, that you still see her as the woman you remember. As a woman whom you admire and respect no matter what, and always will."

Nodding, Steve imagined Peggy as he had last seen her: covered in a soft blanket while white locks framed a wrinkled face. He suddenly realiyed that he could indeed still see the old Peggy in the determined set of her jaw, a soft smile playing on her lips, and the fierce light in her eyes - unextinguishable even after all these years.

A slender hand touched his shoulder comfortingly as Pepper slipped passed him. "Remind her that you still love her," she added.

Steve turned back to the journals, devouring the words that Peggy had written down. He wanted, needed, to learn more about her. To fill in the gap of the past 70 years.

 _The enemy I've fought has always been a foreign force. Hydra, Leviathan . . . whether German or Russian, it hasn't surprised me in any way to uncover plots aimed against the American government. But to find out that the enemy is within our ranks, to discover that some of hte most influential and powerful men in this country belong to a secret club determined to change the course of history just for their own personal gain is truly frightening. The Arena Club is a threat like I've never faced before, and one that has the capacity to truly scare me. Whitney Frost, with all her extra-dimensional dark power, had not scared me as much as this._

 _And ironically, the one person who was able to help me the most was a Russian assassin who had tried to kill me._

Steve lay down the second journal which had chronicled Peggy's mission in Los Angeles and her encounter with the Arena Club and the brilliant mind behind a rift in the fabric of the world, creating a portal to another dimension.

He could picture Peggy's reaction to watching the reel that depicted the wormhole. He had worn a similar expression when the sky above New York had opened to let loose an army of aliens.

"Your're up late."

Glancing at the clock behind the bar, Steve was surprised to see the hour hand already passed the one. He turned to the voice that had snuck up behind him. "I could say the same."

Natasha shrugged. "Unlike you, I don't keep very regular hours." She glanced at the pages in front of him. "Must be a page-turner."

"Peggy's journals. I couldn't stop reading."

Natasha frowned. "Peggy?"

"Margaret Carter, former SSR agent. I . . . I knew her from the war."

"SSR?" the redhead's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "There were horror stories circulating around the special services ranks of the KGB of a woman named Margaret Carter. Apparently she was considered as the most dangerous operative ever. And you knew her?"

"You could say she acted as my handler. But she always meant more than that to me." He turned to the former KGB agent, remembering what he had read. "Have you ever heard about Leviathan?"

"Some secret science division of the Russian forces during and after the war. But they didn't last very long, their ringleader was disgraced for some failed mission."

Steve smiled proudly. "It was Peggy that took him down."

"Then I'd imagine the horror stories weren't far off. I always thought they were more of an urban legend."

"Like the rumours surrounding the Black Widow?"

"Female agents tend to gain a special kind of notoriety. I think it's because men refuse to acknowledge our superiority. So we become something dark and terrible."

Steve let the slight jab pass over without a comment. "You remind me of this Russian agent Peggy knew. When you were trained in the Red Room, were you handcuffed to the bed when you slept?"

Natasha's hand unconsciously went to her left wrist. "It's a hard habit to break," she said softly, a pain-filled shadow in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," apologized Steve. "I didn't mean to pry. I shouldn't have asked."

"We all have old ghosts." Natasha lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I won't keep you from your reading."

A month later, Steve entered the Tower, once again wearing a carefully pressed three-piece suit. He met Pepper who was just exiting the elevators.

"Ms. Potts," the blond greeted her with a bow and a flourish.

Pepper dipped her head gracefully. "Captain Rogers. You appear to be in a very good mood today. And you look incredibly handsome."

Steve blushed. "Peggy said so too."

"How is she?"

"She was feeling a lot better today and I was even able to sneak in an Irish coffee that we shared. She said the nurses don't allow her alcohol anymore."

Pepper raised an eyebrow. "I'd assume there's a good reason for that, but Peggy seemes to be a person who knows what she's doing."

Steve grinned. "You can't convince her not to do something she's set her mind to. We even danced together. Well, it was me holding her in my arms and swaying around. She never did give me dancing lessons so that was all I managed."

"It sounds wonderful."

"It was perfect. Seventy years late, but perfect all the same."

Pepper started to head passed him, then turned on her heels. "Would you like to learn how to dance?"

"I . . . I couldn't possibly ask you to . . ." stumbled Steve.

"I'd love to," insisted Pepper. "I had to teach Tony as well and you can hardly be more clumsy. And I know you'll definitely be far less gropey."

"I can hardly say no, then."

"Good. I'll be back later in the afternoon. I'll meet you in one of the smaller gyms," Pepper stated in a brisk, business-like voice.

Steve looked after the retreating figure. _There's another formidable woman_ , he thought. He decided to ask her to come with him next time to meet Peggy. Having known Howard Stark, she was always eager for stories about Tony. She would love to meet the woman who finally caught his heart.

He was also looking forward to surprising her with a real dance next time.

* * *

 **A/N:** I finally started watching some of Marvel's TV series, beginning with Agent Carter, and was inspired to write this one-shot. Great show, really disappointed that it got cancelled and we won't get to see more of Peggy and Edwin Jarvis.


	16. The Quick and the Quarrelsome

**The Quick and the Quarrelsome**

 _In which a tranquil evening watching the famed movie franchise of fast cars and fast talking turns into a heated discussion about who is the best driver amongst the Avengers_.

It was movie night in the Avenger's Tower. Wiche really just meant that someone had made the effort to place several bags of popcorn in the microwave and the smell had wafted throught the air vents and tickled the noses of the occupants living on the floors closest to the commons.

This night it had been Natasha who had picked up the remote and installed herself comfortably in the central seat of the small theatre room. The unwritten rule was that whoever made popcorn had unchallenged control of the remote.

The first to arrive was Tony. He plunked himself down behind the redhead, grabbed a bowl of popcorn and put his feet up unceremoniously on the seat in front of him.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," he exclaimed loudly as several tuned up cars raced across thes screen. " _The Fast and the Furious_? Seriously? This movie is totally garbage. I mean if you make a movie about cars, at least make it realistic. Have these people ever heard about the basic laws of physics? And I mean a quarter mile in 10 seconds? I've got a garage full of cars that can do that!"

Natasha had waited until Tony had finished his tirade, but then she swung around and laid a hand threatingly on his ankles. "Let's get a few things straight Tony. First of all: shut up. Second, I picked the movie and I have full right to throw you out of the theatre which I can do from right here, right now. And third, shut up."

"You said that tw-" Tony stopped short and breathed in heavily as an iron grip clamped around his ankle. "Overrated, unrealistic CGI movie about racing a few clumps of metal it is then."

"I've got to say I agree with Tony." Clint had walked in with a case of beer. "Corona, anybody?"

Tony let out an exaggerated sight but took an offered bottle anyway.

"Can't we at least watch one of the good ones? Skip the first four, please," the blond archer kept protesting.

Natasha didn't say anything but a raised-eyebrow glare sent a very clear message.

Steve and Thor walked in fifteen minutes after the move had started and just to annoy the two already watching, Natasha restarted the movie.

"You didn't need to do that, Nat," said Steve as he sat down beside her.

"Yeah, Nat," Tony echoed behind them. "You _really_ didn't need to do that."

"What motion picture are we watching today?" Thor boomed, drowning out the sound system.

From experience, Natasha knew it was better to pause the movie and answer the questions. The last time Thor had been around for movie night, half the movie had played without anybody actually understanding any of the dialogue.

"It's called _The Fast and the Furious_. It's about a group of illegal car racers and a cop who's trying to take them down but falls for the ringleader's sister."

"Despite her disgusting-looking tuna sandwiches."

"Who even likes tuna sandwiches?"

"Just the stench alone turns my stomach."

When Natasha loudly cleared her throat, Clint and Tony immediately shut up.

"What do tuna sandwiches have to do with racing these cars?"

Natasha seemed momentarily nonplussed by the question, but the talkative two knew a ready answer.

"Just watch the movie, Thor," they said in unison.

The movie restarted. Thor was very intrigued by the idea of racing cars. It reminded him of when he and Loki would steal two of the Asgardian warships and race around the city, trying to avoid the pillars and statues. Seve didn't find the plot overly appealing but he found the visual and sound effects added a whole other dimension to the movie. He was continually astounded by how far the film industry had advanced since the 40s. Tony only paused from throwing popcorn at Clint to briefly look at the screen whenever a scantily-clad female appeared, and Clint was too busy trying to cath the tossed popcorn with his mouth that he had completely forgotten about the movie.

Only Natasha was immersed completely in the film. The super spy enjoyed these mindless movies whose sole purpose was entertainment. She could happily loose herself for two hours in high-octane thrills that eventually sputtered to a happy ending. It was a good way to momentarily forget about the reality around her. A reality that was enroaching more and more into her blissful movie night as another popcorn kernel flew past her face.

"I'm sorry guys. I was in the middle of a rather tricky experiment and couldn't come any sonner. Is there any popcorn left? What are we watching?" With an apologetic smile, Bruce slipped into the theatre room.

"Really, Doc? Now Red here is gonig to restart the entire thing. Again," whined Tony.

"Oh no, you really don't have to do that, Nat."

"You _really_ don't," Clint added.

Natasha just smiled at Bruce. "I'm glad you could make it. I saved you a bowl of popcorn." She patted the seat beside her.

The doctor obliged, taking the offered bowl with a quiet thank you. He looked at the screen to see what move was playing and adjusted his glasses. "I've never understood street racing. I mean it's so stupid. You're just going to get yourself killed most likely."

"It's the thrill of the ride, Doc. Nothing beats the roar of an engine as you push speed limits."

"Thought you didn't like this movie, Tony." Natasha turned around, eyebrows raised. "You sound like you're in love."

"With cars. Fast cars. But this movie is total garbage as I've said before."

"How many speeding tickets have you gotten there, Fast Guy?" This question came from Clint.

"What's a speeding ticket?" inquired Thor.

"Guys, we're watching a movie!" Natasha protested.

Clint grabbed the remote and pressed the pause button. "No, I want to know this. How many speeding tickets, Tony?"

Tony crossed his arms and looked extremely smug. "None."

"Bullshit," Clint and Natasha replied at the same time as Bruce was explaining basic driving rules and infractions to Asgardian god.

"It's true, I've never gotten caught, and if I want to test my newest sports car, I have my own private racetrack in Malibu."

Clint snorted. "Of course you do."

Meanwhile Natasha was scrolling through her phone, tapping away at the screen. She finally found what she was looking for and smirked triumphantly. "But you have completely destroyed a total of seven cars and gotten 12 DUI's. And had your license suspended several times . . . and gotten a couple of tickets for driving without a license."

The smug grin disappeared from Tony's face. "How do you know all that?"

"I hacked into the Department of Transportation's website."

"You Midgardians have so many rules," Thor interjected. "On Asgard such daily activities need no written law."

"You're saying you were a perfectly behaved little child?" Tony asked pointedly, eager for someone else to sit in the hot seat.

"Well . . . not exactly," Thor replied hesitantly. "There were a fair number of things that Mother and Father told us not to do and Loki and I did anyway."

"Such as?" probed Clint.

"Well don't have cars, but we have these flying ship-like vehicles that we'd race around in, traing to keep ahead of the guards sent to chase us down. It would inevitably end with one of us crashing into a building. Though Loki normally hit my ship on purpose to wreck it."

"Well I'm not the only one with a crash record then," Tony grinned contently.

Bruce just shook his head. "I haven't driven a car in years. The environmental impact is horrific. People should really use public transport more often."

"Use the New York subway? Like with other people?" The spoiled billionaire threw up his hands in disgust. "No thank you."

"What about you, Cap?" Clint turned to Steve who had stayed quiet during the conversation so far.

Steve blushed ever so slightly. "Well, ah . . . I've never gotten a speeding ticket."

Natasha looked up from her phone with a sly grin. "And why's that, Captain America?"

The living legend seemed to shrink back into his seat. "Well you know, I drive very carefully and obey the road rules."

The master spy nodded knowingly. "Our dear Steve Rogers here doesn't actually have a license."

"What?" Clint, Tony and Bruce chorused in shock. Thor looked hapy that he wasn't the only one without posession of a little plastic card with an awful mugshot-like picture on it.

"I never got it before the war," Steve tried to explain. "And then nobody asked if you were legally allowed to drive when there were gunshots and explosions all around. You learn on the go."

The others were still looking at him with wide eyes.

"So you've been driving illegally? Captain America drives without a license?" Tony didn't know whether to laugh at Steve or scold him.

"I don't drive often, only in emergencies. I drive my Harley whenever I can. For which I do have a valid license," justified Steve.

The movie had now been completely forgotten. Everybody was seated in an imperfect circle over three rows in the middle of the theatre with a good view of everybody. Clint and Bruce were sitting backwards, arms crossed over the back of the seat and looking upwards at Tony who still had his feet on the seat in front of him. Natasha had moved over two seats to get away from his badly-smelling socks and was sitting with her legs crossed and munching away at her bowl of popcorn. Bruce sat beside her and a few seats away on the other side was Steve.

Natasha was slightly mollified by the fact that the current conversation was highly interesting, even though the movie was now indefinitely paused.

"What about our master spies and assassins?" Bruce asked, grinning at Natasha.

Natasha smirked, drawing her popcorn bowl closer, but didn't say anything. Clint chuckled.

"Legolas? Red?" Tony encouraged in his weasliest voice.

"I got nothing," Clint shrugged. "Nada."

"ничего," added Natasha.

Bruce shook his head. "I don't believe that." Even Steve looked a little suspicious.

"No joke," Clint defended himself and his partner, as Tony coughed in disbelief. "Seriously. What worse way to blow our covers than to get a ticket or a record?"

"But you have aliases, don't you?" asked Steve.

"All with fake names, fake adresses . . . everything's fake. Try making that stick in court."

"But SHIELD would cover for you not," Bruce questioned.

"Technically," Clint answered. "But we'd rather not find out what would happen if they let us hang."

Steve was still not quite ready to believe that the two agents were really such perfect drivers. "But I've seen you break a few traffic rules on a mission or two."

"I'm not saying I've never broken a traffic rule," replied Natasha with a smirk. "I just said I've never gotten a ticket."

"See the trick is to know how far you can go and when and where without getting caught," Clint laughed.

Steve leaned back with a satisfied grin, "I knew it."

"Oh don't act so smug, Steve," retorted Natasha with a toss of her curls. "You and that bike are a menace."

The super soldier just laughed. "Like Tony said: nothing like the roar of an engine and the blur of the road in front of you." He glanced down at Bruce," Except that the doctor and I prefer two wheels instead of four."

Everyone looked at Bruce who fidged with his glasses.

"I thought Banner didn't drive," Tony called out.

"What happened to anvironmental impact?" teased Natasha.

"Emissions are less from a motorcycle than a car," Bruce tried to justify himself. "And I don't use it regularly. Just for a nice drive every now and then."

"I would like to learn how to drive one of these motorcycles," Thor spoke up. "Will I need to get one of those so-called licenses."

"We can just show you a few things on the grounds out back," Steve offered. "You're not actually an American citizen so you couldn't get a license anyway."

Tony shuddered. "Why would you want to drive a motorcycle anyway. A car is so much better and more fun."

"No way," Steve and Bruce replied.

"I'm more of a four-wheeled truck kinda guy," Clint added. "Nat?"

"Depends on the situation," the spy answered. "But for the pure pleasure of a sweet ride I'm with Steve and Bruce."

"Well you're not invited when Arrow Guy and I go on a road trip," huffed Tony as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"That's alright because we're just going to do our own road trip," Steve shot back.

Thor looked from one side to the other. "And I shall find a horse and go galloping off into the sunset. Or fly around with Mjolnir."

A moment of silence fell upon the room. Everyone seemed to have reached a conclusive end in the argument. Natasha looked around for the remote, eager to finally get back to the movie. It was getting late and she had originally wanted to do a movie marathon. She set a slender fenger on the play button and began to press down.

"Wait, wait!" Tony yelled.

The others turned and looked at him in surprise.

"We still don't know who the best driver is!" "

I didn't know we were trying to find out," said Steve.

"Obviously we are," shot back Tony. "When is something not a competition."

"We are _not_ doing an illegal street race through New York." Bruce had caught a glimmer of an idea in Tony's eyes and quelled it as quickly as possible.

Tony snapped his fingers. "Jarvis, can you pull up some old racing video game on screen."

"Of course, sir," the AI replied.

"I will smash the controllers if it's Mario Kart," Natasha warned with vehemenance in her voice as Clint chuckled.

"Duly noted, Ms. Romanoff."

In the end, everyone agreed on _Need for Speed_ and Steve and Thor were given a quick crash course on how to use a controller and repeatedly warned not to exert their super strength unless they wanted a pile of broken plastic pieces in their hands.

The countdown began and the cars streaked down the track. Except for Thor's because he'd pressed down on the wrong button; he quickly found the right one and raced off after the others.

No bets had been made, nor and prizes established, but each Avenger was firmly vying for that #1 spot. Tony was a very reckless driver, smashing carelessly into cars left and right but often spinning out himself. Clint and Natasha were neck and neck at the front, using every shortcut that they came across. Bruce drove carefully, but at a steady clip, keeping up with everyone and Thor had caught up and was focused on staying on the track, careening from left to right like a drunk driver. Steve was smoothly avoiding obstacles - most often the fellow drivers - and succesfully staying in the lead with the two spies.

Right before the end, in a spectacular crash that was initiated by Tony, cars went flying off the track accompanied by a colourful display of language and one flying controller as Thor slipped through the chaos mostly unharmed and crossed the finish line.

The others protested very loudly, saying that Thor can't possibly be the best driver since he's never actually driven a car. Without further ado, the rematch began.

* * *

 **A/N:** I had to drive six hours for a two-hour work thing the other day so this one-shot came from having nothing to do except think while driving along endlessly on the freeway.


	17. The Holiday Special

**The Holiday Special**

 _In which the Avengers come together for the first time as a team, as a family, to celebrate their first Christmas in the Tower._

The days between December 25th and 31st were eerily quiet at the Tower. The large glass-panelled windows had a scintillating pattern of frost crystal etched across them and a soft layer of powdered snow was falling to the grounds below.

Pepper Pots, CEO of Stark Industries and honorary Avenger, had given holiday leave to the staff personnel and so the office were all locked, window shutters closed and always empty. Even the security staff was on holidays; the only vigilant eyes being the ring of cameras and motion sensors controlled by JARVIS.

Despite the apparent emptiness, however, six further heat points showed up on the monitors in the security control room on the first floor of the Tower. The red blurs were all on different levels, most of them motionless.

In her brightly lit and spacious office, Pepper was typing away at a clipped pace. She wanted to finish her end of the year reports before the year actually ended. She had wrestled a promise from Tony that for New Year's it would be just the two of them. No crazy parties, just a romantic little getaway to ring in the New Year.

The clock on the wall showed 3:30pm when she closed her laptop, filed away the loose papers on her desk and organised the desktop.

"Jarvis, where is Tony?" Pepper asked, looking up at the ceiling.

"He's currently in his lab, Ms. Potts."

"Of course he is. Thank you, Jarvis."

"It is of no consequence. Would you like to know the whereabouts of the other Avengers as well?"

Surprise showed on Pepper's face. "The other Avengers?"

"Indeed. They are all here."

"Here in the Tower?"

"Precisely. Ms. Potts."

"I had no idea," Pepper murmured to herself. "I thought they'd all gone home or something for Christmas. Celebrate with family."

There was slight pause before the AI's voice came on again over the speakers. "If I may venture a hypothesis: I believe that the Avengers consider this as their home. Furthermore, based on a brief background check, none of them have a family to go home to."

"Oh." Stark Industries CEO sat back in her chair and tapped her perfectly manicured fingernails against the mahogany desk surface. "Well I'm going to do something to change that."

Pepper made her way down to lab levels, entering the one labelled as "Garage Shop". There she found her former boss and current boyfriend tinkering away at several oddly-shaped metal pieces with a blowtorch. When she noticed the barrels of flammable liquids that were placed dangerously close to Tony's wild gesticulations with the blowtorch, she just shook her head and sighed.

"Tony. Tony! Turn that thing off for a second and listen to me."

Obliging his girlfriend, Tony lay down the blowtorch, grabbed her by the waist and kissed her. He continued to hold on to her firmly even when she tried to squirm away from his dirty, grease-covered hands.

"Yes, my dear?" the billionaire playboy asked when he eventually released her.

"I'm organizing an Avenger's Holiday meal. It's right in-between Christmas and New Year's and everybody's just sitting here not doing anything. So I've decided to change that."

"What do you mean, everyone's here? I thought it was just you and me. You sent the whole staff off on holidays, didn't you?"

"Well apparently your team members didn't get that memo, so you can just ask them that yourself. Why they have no more sense than to lock themselves away in their rooms I don't either," Pepper responded, finally managing to wriggle loose of Tony's grasp. "You're in charge of getting a turkey, Tony. A big one that'll feed all of us."

Tony smirked. "You know I do big, Pepp. I'll get you your turkey."

"Good."

Roughly an hour later, pure chaos reigned in the commons of the Avenger's Tower. Cheery Christmas music jingled away in the background, very much at odds with the mood of the people listening to the music.

Steve and Thor had been put in charge of decorations but Steve was just listlessly sifting through the boxes with a sad, forlorn look on his face. Thor had managed to drape some tinsel around the handle of Mjolnir, but that was as far as he had been motivated to decorate.

Bruce was in the kitchen, hands on his head in exasperation as Clint and Natasha were arguing about what spices to put in the stuffing.

"You have to keep it simple, Nat. Some salt and pepper, and then just let the natural savours of the ingredients to do the rest."

The redhead wrapped the bowl away from Clint. "You'll have a bland mess if you don't season this properly." She reached fro the garlic salt but Clint knocked it out of her reach. Ground garlic flew everywhere, mainly in Bruce's direction, who began sneezing violently as tears ran down his cheeks.

"Look what you did!" whined Clint.

"What I did?" Natasha snapped back. "You caused that!"

"You're just being purposefully obtuse," The archer attempted to grab the bowl back from Natasha's unyielding grasp. "Of the two of us here, Natasha, which one is actually an American and knows how to make proper turkey stuffing?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Fine then," she said as her lip twitched into a smirk. She let go of the bowl suddenly and Clint stumbled backwards, slammed into the island behind him and ended up with half of the stuffing flying up into his face. The other half flew all over the kitchen.

"I'm just going to make my own stuffing," Natasha continued. "And then we'll see who's is better."

"You're on, Black Widow."

Meanwhile Bruce ha managed to clean the garlic powder off his face and blow his nose thoroughly to clean out the rest. "I'll get started on the mashed potatoes then," he said to nobody in particular."

He found the biggest pot in the kitchen and filled it with water before starting to wash and peel a bag of potatoes./

"I thought an American Christmas dinner included a turkey?" Thor spoke up.

"Tony's getting turkey," answered Pepper, coming around the corner. She had been on the opposite side setting the dining table.

"Hopefully he doesn't come with a chicken," Clint snorted.

"I think a genius knows the difference between a chicken and a turkey," Natasha snapped back condescendingly, too mad at Clint to care that she was actually defending Tony. "And if we do still need a bird to roast, I'll stick you in the oven, _Hawkeye_."

"Speaking of genius," Bruce spoke up, catching Clint's attention. "I think you just poured sugar instead of salt into your stuffing mix."

Clint swore as he realized his mistake. "It's still going to taste better than Miss I-Can't-Even-Make-Kraft-Dinner's poisonous concoction."

"Why are you two in such a bad mood anyway?" Bruce wanted to know./

"Says the guy who's only grunted noncommittal replies in response to any questions asked," Steve threw into the argument. "What's been eating at you, Doc?"

"I don't know Cap. Why are you sitting in the middle of a pile of Christmas decorations looking like you're in a cemetery?"

Before Steve could reply or Thor ask what a cemetery was, the elevator door opened.

"Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you've been good, because naughty boys and girls don't get any of Santa's turkey!" Tony burst into the kitchen, a Santa's hat perched jauntily on his head and carrying a large cardboard box.

Pepper, whose expression of dismay at the arguing Avengers in front of her had initially lifted when Tony arrived, now looked at the cardboard box in horror. "What is that Tony? Why is a dead and featherless turkey ready for stuffing and roasting making such noises?"

"Who said anything about a dead turkey?" Tony dropped the box and opened the lid. The head of a turkey, a very much alive turkey, poked out. "Meet Bob."

Clint howled in laughter. "There's your genius," he said to Natasha.

"Well it's not a chicken," she replied, trying to keep a straight face.

Pepper was furious. "You had one job, Tony. One job. How do you expect us to eat a live turkey?"

"Well you'd have to kill it first obviously. And considering we have two master spies and assassins in our midst, that shouldn't be a problem."

Clint casually twirled the knife in his hand as Natasha turned her cold killer glare on the turkey. The unlucky target, feeling the two pairs of eyes honing in, squawked in alarm and scrambled out of the box, finding shelter behind Thor's broad back.

"Bob the Turkey has claimed asylum and it has been granted," the prince of Asgard announced in an imperial voice. "No harm shall be done to him."

"Way to ruin Christmas, Thor," Tony muttered. "I spent several hours running all over the damn state to try and find a turkey. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a turkey _after_ December 25th?"

"I don't actually," Thor deadpanned. "Darcy had volunteered to cook Christmas dinner for Jane, Erik and myself."

"Then what are you doing here?" Steve asked.

Thor shrugged, looking lonely. "They had to fly out because of some strange anomalies over the Nazca Desert in Peru. And I didn't really know where to go."

"Why not just back to Asgard?" This time Clint asked the question. "You've got to have some sort of midwinter or solstice festivities in your realm, don't you?"

Now Thor looked lonely and miserable. "It wouldn't be the same without Loki," he finally responded. "He was family after all, and without him there doesn't seem to be much reason to participate in the revels."

"I know how that feels," Bruce added quietly. "Kinda hard to celebrate a 'family holiday' by yourself."

"There never were any holidays in the Red Room," Natasha spoke up. "Missions would be encouraged during festivities because people would have there guard down."

"Have you ever celebrated Christmas then?" Bruce asked.

The redhead shrugged, crossing her arms protectively in front of her chest. "Christmas isn't really a big deal in the Orthodox calendar. But besides, I've never really celebrated anything - Christmas, Valentine's Day, birthdays."

"You've never celebrated your birthday?" Pepper seemed outraged.

"After several thousand years the day of one's birth tends to lose significance anyway," threw in Thor.

Pepper's mouth remained open for a brief moment, but then she turned to Steve. "What's your excuse for being so morose on a holiday? I had expected the Captain to lead the celebrations."

Steve lowered his gaze and studied his knuckles intently. "I did always enjoy Christmas. Bucky and I would save up our every last penny and buy a box of glazed donuts for us and his family. That was aways our special Christmas treat."

"If it's donuts you want, Cap, there's a decent joint half a block from here."

"No, it's the people I miss. And nothing in the world can bring those back."

There was a long silence. Each of the Avengers through of their complicated or non-existent family lives and realized that they had rarely celebrated a normal, happy, family Christmas. Even Clint had to admit to himself that the stress of keeping the knowledge of his family and their whereabouts a secret tended to spoil any holiday cheer. He had been back home on the farm briefly but he could never stay long lest someone at SHIELD get suspicious.

"Well this is just super depressing," remarked Tony, staring at the miserable-looking faces around him.

"Says the only guy who was lucky enough to grow up in an actual family," remarked Clint.

"Oh yeah, and what a happy, go-lucky family we where," Tony retorted sarcastically. "With everything money can buy except for two parents who actually cared about celebrating the holidays as a family."

"Alright that's enough!" Pepper exclaimed loudly, stomping her foot in emphasis. Everyone turned to look at her, and in the ensuing silence, Bob let out a loud squawk. Pepper turned on the turkey with such a fierce glare that even the bird had to look away and hide his head under his wings. Tony surpassed a grin - he know the fatal effects of that glare.

Pepper turned back to the Avengers and fixed them all wit her best CEO stare. "You will all stop this ridiculous bickering this instant. And now we're going to put all those past memories behind us and create a new one. Whether you had a family or not in the past, you all have one now - the people in this room. And this year will be the first Avengers Family Christmas, with many more to come.

Silence filled the room again, interrupted only by an acoustic cover of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" playing over the speakers.

"And that's why I made this gorgeous, wonderfully clever woman CEO," beamed Tony proudly.

Steve allowed a small smile to appear on his face. "That was a good speech Pepper. What's your plan?"

She smiled back at the captain, then looked at the mess in the kitchen: spices and bits of stuffing were splattered across almost cupboard, a large pot of water had boiled over to create a small lake on the stovetop, and chopped vegetables and potatoes were spread over every remaining counter space.

"We'll forego the typical Christmas dinner," Pepper finally said, with another baleful look at the turkey. "And we'll go for a potluck-style dinner instead. Each of you is going to make a dish, two at a time in the kitchen. The rest are going to decorate and set the table."

There were no protests. Natasha and Clint said they'd start cooking, noting the mess in the kitchen was largely their fault and needed to be cleaned up first. Steve and Thor attacked the decoration boxes with renewed gusto. With the doctor's help, Thor strung up tinsel and lights all along the walls, windows, balconies, railings and doorways. Bruce would hold the long strands and watch for tangles and knots while Thor used Mjolnir to lift himself up in the air and attack the decorations. Steve and Tony amused themselves by going through the boxes labelled 'Fan Mail'. Apparently people enjoyed buying the most gaudy Avengers-themed baubles and sending them along with many hundreds of fan letters. Soon, all the window sills and couch tables were covered with figurines of the Avengers depicted as Santas or elves or even reindeer. Tony was pleased to note that Iron Man had the most fans, although Steve secretly suspected the billionaire of having ordered the mass production of Iron Man paraphernalia himself. Hawkeye and Black Widow figurines were conspicuously absent, but Tony coaxed Clint into surrendering - temporarily - his arrows which were outfitted with tinsel and ornaments and hung up around the room. Steve had made a bunch of origami spiders out of black and red paper, complete with Santa hats.

By the time everyone had finished in the kitchen, the entire commons was a bright and colourful spectacle. The decorative themes "Avengers" and "Christmas" had been taken to the absolute max, with the end result being more about the work everyone had put in together than a cohesive, tasteful effect.

The dining table had also been decorated, with the crowning glory being Mjolnir in the centre of the table dressed up as Santa Claus. Platters of food took up every remaining empty space: Clint's veggie and beef chilli pots with freshly baked bread, Natasha's potato salad and vodka-based cocktails, Bruce's five different rice bowl variations, Steve's plates of Christmas cookies, Thor's roared ham and braised beef brisket, and Tony's Steamed Vegetable Extravaganza.

Just as everyone had finished their last details and gathered at the table, Pepper reappeared with a mysterious smile on her lips. She had left soon after calling everyone to order and was more than pleased with the final results as she entered the dining area.

"To our first Avenger's Christmas - as a family," she toasted once everyone had taken a seat.

"And to many more," Tony continued, sitting beside her and taking her hand in his.

The toasts continued around the table.

"To health and safety," said Bruce.

"To peace on Midgard and across the nine realms," Thor boomed.

"To lost loved one and new friendships," proposed Steve.

"To successful missions," said Clint.

"To kicking ass and beating the bad guys," finished Natasha.

A few hours later, the Avengers were sprawled all over the couches in various states of post-Christmas dinner food comas. A few cookies were still being nibbled on, and the cocktail bowls had a couple sips remaining, but the rest of the food had disappeared to leave behind a vast mountain of dirty dishes that everyone conveniently ignored.

"Cleaning up will be a good team-building exercise," Steve had said with a grin as everyone groaned in complaint. "Tomorrow. Or the day after."

Now, as the Avengers were relaxing on a few couches arranged in a square, Pepper came in to stand in the middle, a shopping bag in her hand.

Tony sat up excitedly. "Yay presents!" he grinned, clapping his hands.

The others all slowly sat up as well, except for Clint who remained in his prone position, hands on his stomach and eyes closed. Pepper gave out a similarly-shaped present neatly wrapped in wrapping paper to each one of them. Even Clint opened his eyes to unwrap the rectangular shape. Six faces lit up smiling as they looked at a framed picture of the themselves in the middle of the battle of New York, gathering together for the first time as team, ready to take on the world.

"Merry Christmas, Avengers," Pepper said, mirroring their smiles.

* * *

 **A/N:** As evidenced by the title, this story was supposed to be published . . . about nine months ago . . . so sorry for making you guys wait so long! But also a huge shout-out to everyone who sent me a review and told me to keep writing. I haven't forgotten about this little fic of mine, and hope to be back on a slightly more regular updating schedule.


	18. Can I have drink please?

**Can I have a drink please?**

 _In which Natasha Romanoff finds herself becoming a more integral part of the Avengers, thanks to her topnotch bartending and drink-mixing skills._

It was no secret that Natasha couldn't cook. There were many, many things that the other Avengers didn't know about Natasha Romanoff, aka Black Widow, but her lack of abilities to create an edible concoction was not one of those things. The master spy and assassin always claimed that she had never learned, so in theory, she could potentially cook but she just didn't know how. Clint would rebuff with the story of when they were on a stakeout together and their location was revealed to their enemies because Natasha had burned down their hideout trying to cook pasta. _On purpose_ , Natasha retorted every time. The stakeout had turned out to be useless and she wanted a quick end to the mission.

However, if making food wasn't on the list of Natasha's skills, making good drinks was. It was a hobby of hers, collecting different specialty liquors, wines, beers and liqueurs. She would always come back from a mission with at least one bottle stashed away in her bag. Sometimes she had bought it; other times it was a gift. Most of the time she had simply casually relieved the previous owner of its possession rights.

—

One quiet day in the middle of the afternoon, not too long after Natasha's suite in the Tower was finished, Tony was sitting at the extensive bar in the commons, fiddling away with a few holograms projected in front of him from the laptop on the counter. The elevator doors opened and Natasha appeared from around the corner, dragging a cart that was precariously loaded with stacks upon stacks of cardboard boxes.

"Morning, Red. You moving out already?"

Natasha brought the cart to a stop, putting out a hand to stop the top box from falling down. "Actually I'm moving in. Your bar is despairingly lacking in suitable drinking content."

"Are you kidding me? I've got some of the best and most potent stuff money can buy."

"Ah, billionaires. You never seem to understand that it's not the price tag that actually counts."

ony raised an eyebrow. "Well then, please. Enlighten me."

Natasha straightened her posture and ran a glance down the bar before turning back to Tony. She studied him carefully: his slouched posture and unmotivated hand gestures indicated that he wasn't quite focused on his task. Having worked undercover for Tony before, Natasha knew that he was rarely not focused on his work; in fact, most of the time he was obsessively focused. She could tell that something wasn't quite right today, but trying to get Tony to admit that was an impossible task. The best she could was distract him for a bit, take his mind off whatever was bothering him. Natasha smiled slightly - she had just the perfect drink.

Carefully setting down some of the top boxes, Natasha took one and set it on the table before her. Opening it, she took out a small brown bottle with a golden yellow label. "Cinq Cents brewed in the Abbey of Chimay, one of the best triples in Belgium." She found a chalice with a shorter stem and poured the clear golden liquid into it. "Found in almost every supermarket, not overly expensive, but brewed according to the precise traditions of Trappist monks."

Tony sniffed at the foam suspiciously. "I'm not really the beer type."

"Drink it."

Nobody said no to the Black Widow when she used that tone, so Tony obediently sipped the beer. It tasted hoppy, with a bitter finish that hinted at different fruity flavours. But in the middle of a sweltering afternoon to a bored genius needing a distraction from his work . . . well, Tony had to admit that it wasn't that bad, and he said so to Natasha.

She smirked, knowing of course that she had been right. "Although I'm not a fan of this particular brand because of the taste, but because of the hefty weight of the bottle," the redhead admitted, bouncing the empty bottle on her palm. "It saved my life in a bar fight a couple of years ago."

"Go on," encouraged Tony with another raise of his eyebrows.

"Oh it was just a standard reconnaissance op for SHIELD. My target was on the run, and I tracked one of his last contacts to this little bar in Mons. A couple of thugs interrupted my interrogation but this bottle knocked out two of the men, before smashing over the head of the third. Terrible waste of beer."

As Tony continued sipping on his beer, Natasha unpacked the rest of the boxes, carefully polishing the bottles and setting them up on the glass shelves behind the bar. If a particular label caught Tony's eyes, she would tell the story behind the the acquisition of that particular bottle. It was a pleasant way to pass the afternoon. In fact, Tony didn't even notice the hours pass until Natasha finished cleaning up the bar and told him her shift was over. Once she'd left, he looked around the empty room. He should call Pepper, he realized. Call her and tell her he missed her and that he was sorry for spending more time on his Iron Man suits than her. Maybe he would take her to Belgium for a little getaway.

—

On a different occasion, three exhausted SHIELD agents stumbled into the commons, faltering steps taking them to the bar where they leaned against the counter in an attempt to prevent from falling down. The mission had been a success, but success always came at a cost. If all three of them were called up, they knew from the outset that it was going to be bad. The horrors they would see, the lengths they had to take to make it back alive, always took a terrifying toll on body and mind.

Natasha moved around to behind the bar, removing four thin cylindrical bottles with long necks from her backpacks. Grabbing three shot glasses, she poured each one of them a double shot.

Three glasses clinked and were downed in a second. The redhead didn't bat an eye, but two pairs of blond eyebrows shot up as the strong liquid burned their throats, tasting of apples and berries and summertime.

"I can't believe you made a two-hour detour just for that," grumbled Clint, but the pained look in eyes had faded slightly. "The one time we get to use the quinjet and you have to make a shopping trip.

"I think that detour was almost worth it," Steve spoke up, sitting up a bit straighter. "How'd you know about this stuff?

Natasha poured another round of shots. "Back when I was working for the KGB I was shot on a mission to one of the old communist countries. I managed to escape my pursuers, losing them in the Austrian Alps. An older lady living by herself up in the mountains let me crash in her shed. She made her own Schnapps and used it both as a painkiller and steriliser," she recalled with a laugh. "I've still got the scar on my hip. And whenever I get a chance, I go back to that valley and buy some of the locally distilled liqueurs. Not as good as that old lady's, but as close as any as I've ever been able to find."

Clint looked at her in surprise. "I'm amazed you let somebody help you. You barely let me tend to any wounds you get."

"Surprising what a good Schnapps can do, no?" she slid the refilled shot glasses across the counter.

Tongues loosened, Steve recalled some stories of his days back in the Alps fighting alongside the Howling Commandos against Hydra. Clint wasn't a stranger to that particular region either and responded with a story of his own. As they continued to talk, Natasha brewed a pot of tea, adding another dash of the Schnapps to each of the three mugs - a perfect night cap after a long day and even longer mission. Already Clint and Steve were beginning to look a little more relaxed and no longer focusing on the flashing scenes of bullets, screams, pain and death playing in their heads.

Natasha smiled as she looked fondly at the two men. She had worked behind several bars on different undercover operations and being able to read her customers and know what they wanted soon became second nature. But on any previous occasion, it had always been about the mission: getting the information she needed, making contact with her target. For the first time she actually _cared_ about the people sitting across from her, and simply wanted them to be happy and relaxed for their own sakes. Not because she needed to get something from them. It was a novel experience for the Black Widow. _I'm getting soft_ , she thought to herself, but with little remorse. _I'm starting to feel like I'm a part of this team_.

After that, Natasha began to take over the bar bit by bit, adding more and more of her drink collection to the shelves and using Tony's credit card to buy all the necessary glasses and utensils that she needed for mixing cocktails. It also became more usual for the other Avengers to sit themselves at the bar, unconsciously hoping for the redhead to make an appearance. Whether they actually wanted a drink or simply just the opportunity to chat a little, the bar became a favourite spot for everyone. The encounters at the bar generally happened by chance, but occasionally Natasha liked to surprise everyone.

—

The redheaded assassin was back from a mission to Mexico when Jarvis issued a red alert. Within ten minutes, the Avengers had assembled in the commons.

Tony was grumbling about the interruption, still carrying a wrench in one hand and trying to clean his black-smeared hands with a white cloth that wasn't white anymore.

"Are you ok, Natasha?" demanded Steve.

"Mission go bad?" Clint asked, looking at her carefully but unable to detect any noticeable wounds.

Wordlessly, Natasha opened a brown paper bag. Ripe green limes spilled all over the counter. "Freshly picked a few hours ago," she declared proudly. "You'll never taste a better mojito."

"I'm not quite sure that constitutes for a red alert," Bruce pointed out.

His teammates just ignored him, eagerly watching Natasha deftly muddle together the lime slices with brown sugar. She spent a long moment looking over the shelves, pursing her lips as she cast an eye at the different bottles of rum. Finally she selected a white rum that she had taken from a fishing boat used as a cover by an extreme faction of Cuban communists. The other bottles she had had to leave behind unfortunately, using them as explosive fuel to destroy the boat.

Tony took an appreciative sip of the finished cocktail. "You're a true superhero, Red."

Natasha smiled in thanks, handing a glass to Thor. "I bet they don't have mojitos on Asgard."

"No, but they do in New Mexico." He chuckled at her crestfallen look and quickly reassured her after taking a quick taste. "But yours is much better than Darcy's. Although don't ever tell her I said that."

"I won't," Natasha promised, the smile returning to her eyes. "I know I'm the best."

Even Bruce had to concede to the fact that the usage of a red alert might have been, potentially, justified. Natasha raised an eyebrow when he asked for a refill.

"What?" Bruce shrugged, looking innocent. "I have to drink for two you know."

A small laugh burst from Natasha. She didn't know why, but there was something about the doctor that always made her feel happier, almost carefree. Keeping his gaze, smiling when he blushed slightly and looked away, she prepared another mojito and passed him the glass. "I hope to see you around more then."

"Oh, I don't intend to go anywhere," Bruce replied, swirling the straw through the crushed ice. "You know, I've never heard you laugh."

It was Natasha's turn to look away.

"You have a very pretty laugh, Natasha." And somehow, when Bruce Banner said it, her heart skipped a beat and that one comment meant more to her than all the other compliments she was getting from the other Avengers enjoying her cocktail.

—

Besides the other Avengers and occasionally Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, or later Maria Hill, when the latter three needed a break dealing with the stress and insanity working for Tony Stark, Natasha had very few other customers. The commons was of course strictly off limits to anybody who wasn't an Avenger, or honorary Avenger, as a few select people received the honour of being called.

So it was that Natasha was very close to being actually startled, when a familiar voice spoke up from behind her back. She was turned around, busy dusting off the bottles on the shelves and despite being occupied, very few people managed to sneak up on the Black Widow.

"Whiskey on the rocks."

After a second's pause, Natasha grabbed a bottle from the top shelf and turned to face the counter. "Nick."

"That's _Fury_ to you, Romanoff," the director of SHIELD replied, a stern eye staring at one of his top agents. "Unless you've got something damn special in that bottle you're cradling."

Natasha smirked and sat a tumbler on the counter, scooping four ice cubes into it. "50-year old single malt Irish whiskey. Taken from the presidential office of Mikhail Gorbachev himself."

It was Fury's turn to almost be startled. "The last president of the USSR?"

"Of course. You didn't think the Black Widow was far off from the action during the dissolving of the Soviet Union, did you?"

"Hardly," responded Fury dryly. "But 1991 was also the year your name came up for the first time as a freelance assassin, and KGB fugitive."

"I managed to get out of the Red Room's clutches in the ensuing chaos but I didn't start freelancing until 1992. This," she gestured at the bottle, "I took as a thank you gift for services rendered to the Union. Unofficially taken of course."

Fury raised his glass and took a sip, his one good eye eye closing appreciatively. "I never got along with that bastard. Somehow enjoying his whiskey gives me great satisfaction."

Natasha smirked again. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Since when do I report to you?"

"It's called conversation, Nick. I pour you a drink, ask a question; you drink and answer. It's how this whole bartending thing normally works."

"I didn't come here for your sass, Romanoff."

Wordlessly, Natasha refilled his glass. It was another skill as bartender to know when to talk and when to keep quiet. She knew Fury was here for a reason; he would say why when he was ready.

"Funny how things work out sometimes, no?" the director continued rhetorically. "I had this great plan once you know, called the Avengers Initiative."

" _Had_ a plan?

Fury's lips curled into a wry smile. "Well it's hardly my plan anymore. Seems to have taken a life of it's one, including swiping away my two best agents."

"Awe, Nick. Don't tell me you miss us."

Nick Fury downed the rest of his whiskey and set the glass down heavily on the counter "I need to be sure, Romanoff. Where do your loyalties lie?"

The secret agent kept his gaze for a while before responding. "SHIELD . . . for the moment."

"And your ties to the Avengers?"

"My loyalties are to people, not organisations, Nick. You know that. Barton is my partner - I owe him my life. And Rogers - he's the captain and one of the very few people in this world I could trust."

"Just making sure that _I_ can still trust you."

A red eyebrow sneaked upward. "You don't trust me, Nick, you never have. But don't worry, yours is still the signature on my pay checks so I'm not going to do something stupid to piss you off."

"I hardly see around in DC anymore."

"SHIELD is a job," Natasha shrugged. "Nothing more. This . . ." she looked around her. "This is home."

"That answers my question then," Fury smiled. "How much for the drink?"

"On the house."

—

The clock read 4:30am, but the bar wasn't empty yet. A lone, redheaded figure was passing a wet cloth over the counter, polishing glasses and straightening the bottles on the shelves. The melodic strains of Tchaikovsky's Symphony No.5 were softly playing in the background.

Tony had come up with the last minute decision to host a party for the Avengers and some of their closest friends, apparently feeling like the commons needed to see a bit of liveliness. Not one for parties, Natasha had opted to stay behind the bar, observing the going-on's with her typical aloof attitude. Despite the closeness she was beginning to feel with her teammates, despite her willingness to slowly open the metal shell around her inner self, she knew that she would never be in a position to truly trust any of them. The small, handheld gun she had attached to the underside of the counter was proof that the Black Widow was never far away.

Nevertheless, Natasha looked around her with a soft smile playing on her lips. For the moment, for the first time in her life, she was content. She knew it wouldn't last, of course. Someday, sooner or later, something or somebody would come along and shatter this moment of precious tranquility. Setting the last bottle back in its designated spot, she surveyed her collection proudly. Whatever was in store for the Avengers - running out of good drinks was not going to be one of their them.

* * *

 **A/N:** Because I love that scene in Age of Ultron where Natasha's behind the bar flirting with Bruce.


	19. The Lullaby

**The Lullaby**

 _In which the developing bond between Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanoff is the beginning of a connection between the Hulk and the Black Widow._

The mission was going bad. From his swivel chair in the Tower's OP Room, staring at the images on the panel of screens in front of him and listening to the live comm feed over the mics, Bruce Banner could tell that the Avengers were in a bit of a pinch. Their sneak attack had long been discovered, and they were now facing a greater number of guns than initially expected. To further exasperate the situation, the enemy was for the most part hunkered down behind cement bunkers and any little headway the Avengers managed to achieve was costing them dearly.

Hawkeye and the Black Widow were covering for Thor, who was using his hammer to smash into one of the bunkers. Iron Man was zipping around back and forth in the sky trying to fire at any of the armoured enemy figures that broke cover while simultaneously avoiding the heavy machine gun fire blasting at him. Captain America was on the defensive, using his shield more as an actual shield than an offensive weapon.

"I don't think we can keep this up much longer," the captain spoke up, crouching down behind his shield and breathing heavily.

"Thor's barely making a difference in those bunkers," added the Black Widow, spinning and ducking to get out of range of the enemy fire.

Bruce clenched the desk tightly in worry as he saw his teammates slowly beaten back and forced to retreat. They always asked him, of course, if he was up to joining them as they followed up on another lead on Loki's sceptre and tracked down another secret Hydra cell. But so far he had always declined. The truth was, Bruce was terrified. Even more terrified than angry. Scared of the collateral damage that inevitably ensued whenever the Hulk made an appearance. Scared of accidentally hurting his teammates. Scared of the lack of control he had over the Other Guy.

At the moment, however, as he watched more and more of Hydra's soldiers pour out of the underground tunnels they were hiding in, the principal emotion running through Bruce's mind was worry. Even more worrying was the fact that his fingernails were slightly tinged green. As the doctor fought for control over his mind and body, he saw a new wave of firepower raining down on the Avengers. Iron Man was hit; the metal man awkwardly spinning towards the ground with half his busters down. Then the Black Widow cursed in Russian, falling down on one knee. A deep growl burst from Bruce's throat.

A streak of blue, red and white had raced over to the redhead, protecting her defenceless form. But Natasha waved away Steve's outstretched arm, placing her hand to her ear instead. "Bruce?" she asked into the mic. "Are you still with us, Doctor?"

The familiar voice brought Bruce fully back to himself. He blinked, forcing the Other Guy to back down. "All good," he assured, though his voice sounded strained and forced. "But what I'm seeing on the cameras doesn't look so promising."

"I say we cut our losses and come back another day," Tony spoke up, the exhaustion and defeat evident in his voice. "Cap?"

"Avengers report in."

"The suit's taken a beating," Tony replied. "It won't last another round."

"Nat's got a pretty deep flesh wound in the thigh. I'm almost out of arrows," reported Clint.

"I can keep going for as long as needed," said Thor as he directed another lightning bolt at a bunched together group of figures. "Although continuing this fight seems to be futile."

The captain sighed heavily. "We'll regroup and hit them harder next time. Avengers - retreat."

Bruce met the returning group in the hanger of the quinjet, standing beside the landing platform nervously and wringing his hands as the rear exit opened. The redheaded Black Widow stumbled out, supported by Clint. Thor and Steve followed behind, heads hanging low and despondent expressions on their face. Tony came out last, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, but there were visible black and blue bruises on his face and arms.

"You guys look a mess," commented Bruce, trying to hide his worry at the defeated return of the sorry-looking bunch.

"Thank you doctor, for your most accurate medical assessment of our physical and emotional state," retorted Tony sarcastically.

Steve raised a weary head. "Let it go Tony. We can't win every battle; it's a lesson everyone needs to learn."

"But that's just it," Tony replied, something in his tone making everyone stop and look at him, "We could have done it, if everyone had been there." He turned an accusing glare at Bruce.

The doctor was taken aback. "I'm sorry what?"

"You know that's not true, Tony." Again, the captain tried to intervene but Tony was having none of it.

"No, no, no. We're supposed to be a team, yet the five of us go out there getting our asses kicked it because the strongest one of us decides to hide back here and not help."

Thor winced as Tony called Bruce 'the strongest one of us', but he had to concede Tony's point. "Stark is not wrong. We are stronger together, all six of us."

"Thank you Thor. The point is, we're going to get hit again like that. And next time Widow could be coming back in a bodybag instead of just with a limp."

Natasha shook off Clint's helping hand. "That's unfair Tony. Each one of us could get hurt at any time, whether we have the Hulk with us or not."

"But the chances are less. And you all know it."

"No, we don't know that," Bruce finally spoke up in his defence. "I have almost zero control over the Other Guy. We were lucky in New York that things didn't end up worse, and I do not want a repeat of that situation."

Tony waved a hand in exasperation. "Those are all excuses and you know it. You made a choice to come back and be a part of the Avengers. Now stick with that."  
"Come on, Tony, stop it. We're all beat and feeling miserable. Don't let it out on the doctor," threw in Clint, as he reached out a hand again to steady Natasha. "Nat needs to get off her feet, so we'll leave you to your ridiculous argument."

The two SHIELD agents slowly headed towards the elevator, leaving the other four still standing in a circle and watching each other warily.

"This isn't ridiculous. I have a point and you know it." Tony refused to let go of the argument he had started.

"Now isn't the time," Steve shook his head. He had to deal with his team's first inglorious defeat and retreat, and Tony's petty squabbles were too much to handle.

"Fine." the billionaire genius threw a hand into the air and walked away. "But this isn't over!" he called back threateningly.

Steve turned to Bruce. "Don't let him get to you, Doc. You're a part of this team, in whatever way you choose to show your participation."  
"Thanks Steve," Bruce replied, but he sounded far from convinced. "I'm going to go see how Natasha is doing."

The medical bay was conveniently located on the floor directly below the quinjet hanger. A white and sterile hallway led to several recovery rooms as well as the main operating room. The Avengers had several doctors in call if any of them ever needed any serious medical attention; for the most part though, they took care of any First Aid themselves. None of them were very fond of hospitals.

Bruce found Natasha and Clint in one of the small recovery rooms. It was painted in a muted teal, with curtains of grey, teal and green patterns to liven up the enclosed space. The redhead was reclining against the pile of pillows at her back, legs outstretched to give the blond-haired agent easy access to wrap a bandage around her thigh.

Hearing the door open, Natasha looked over and gave Bruce a wan smile. "I don't think this is your area of expertise, doctor."

"You're right at that," he replied, looking at the bottles of antiseptic and cotton bandages strewn on the mattress. A needle with a fine looking thread caught his eye. "Did Clint just sew together a bullet wound?"

"Mhmm," Clint murmured in assent, a wad of bandages between his lips preventing him from talking.

"His sewing skills are quite good actually, much better than mine," Natasha said casually.

Bruce's face turned green, but it had nothing to do with the Hulk. "I'm . . . I'm sorry," he stuttered so quietly the two agents barely heard him.

Clint wrapped the final end of the roll around Natasha's thigh and taped it up securely. "There you go, Nat. Try and keep your weight off of this leg for a bit." He cleaned up the supplies and nodded at Bruce as he left the room, leaving the two of them alone.

Natasha settled herself comfortably on the mattress, fixing the man standing before her with a fierce glare. "What are you sorry for?"

Bruce shuffled his feet, looking at the ground. "I might have . . . things might have gone different if . . . maybe I should've . . . maybe the Other Guy could've have made a difference."

"Of course he would've made a difference," Natasha replied bluntly. "Those cement bunkers wouldn't have stood a chance and we could've been able to infiltrate the tunnels."

Surprised, Bruce looked up at her blunt words. He smiled wryly. "Don't ever go to the Black Widow for comforting words."

"I've just been shot, Banner. I'm not the one who should have the comforting words," retorted Natasha. "Besides, you're guilty expression tells me I'm right. And you know it."

He didn't reply.

"What are you going to do about it?" she continued.

"Do?"

"You came once, ready to help even though you almost got us all killed and crashed Fury's beloved helicarrier." Bruce winced. "New York could be just a start. You can learn to control the monster inside you," Natasha looked away. "We have all had to do the same," she whispered.  
"I don't know how," he whispered back.

Natasha looked at him until he returned her stare. "Don't you? Why are you here Bruce?"

Bruce hesitated before replying. Ever since moving into the Tower and accepting becoming a part of the Avengers, the huge question mark looming over his head in respect to the Other Guy had been a big contributing factor to sleepless nights. The biggest problem wasn't the Hulk himself; Bruce was fairly confident that his other half was able to distinguish between friends and enemies - it had been proven in New York. No, the problem was that there was no certainty in changing back into Bruce Banner after having turned green. Before he went again with his fellow Avengers, he wanted to be sure that there was something, or someone, that could call him back. Which was why he was standing in front of Natasha Romanoff. When the Other Guy had threatened to emerge in the OP Room after seeing his teammates in danger, it had been her voice that had saved him.

"I . . . I need your help."

The lullaby they called it. After another session, a red-eyed Natasha had sarcastically commented that she'd much rather be able to use her voice as a lullaby and just knock everybody out. The name had stuck.

Steve had been against the idea at first. The captain claimed it was too dangerous to experiment with the Hulk. "You're toying around with him," he said simply with a frown. "I don't think he'll appreciate that very much."

Clint hadn't said anything. He knew better than to persuade Natasha against doing something she had already decided on. After the first session though, when he was rubbing soothing, pain-relieving cream all over her bruised and battered body he asked her why.

"Because he asked me." Was the simple reply.

It wasn't enough for Clint. "You've never had a problem with refusing to do something that someone has asked you to."

"He trusts me Clint." Natasha looked at her partner, the man who knew her best. "He looks at me and he's able to see past the Black Widow, past Natasha Romanoff, and see . . . me."

"But do you trust him?"

Natasha winced as he touched a particularly sore spot on her ribs. "I understand him. I've been given a chance to use the assassin they turned me into for something better. He deserves the same."

Thor and Tony were at every one of the sessions.

"I'm not going to tell you to not do this, because we need the Hulk," Tony had said to Natasha. "But do you know what you're getting yourself into?"

She had just shrugged, rolling her shoulders to loosen her muscles before walking confidently towards a growing green figure. "Do we ever know what we're getting ourselves into?" she called over her shoulder.

"I'll be here should you need any containment help," Thor called every her. He glanced at Tony. "Being the strongest Avenger and all of course."

The 'Hulktainer', designed by Tony with some input from Bruce, was a multiple-enforced tent-like steel structure set up on the lawn behind the Tower. The inside surfaces were covered with impact-absorbing cushions for which Natasha was very grateful. The Hulk may consider her a friend, but 'gentle' was not in his limited vocabulary.

The first few sessions were rough. Once the Hulk emerged, Natasha would talk to him, attempting to figure out how to calm him down to the point that Bruce was able to wrestle back control and shrink back down to his regular size. One wrong word however, and a thunderous bellow would be the answer. More often than not, the redhead would be sent flying through the air like a rag doll before crashing into the wall or ground, momentarily stunned and breezing heavily. Thor would be waiting, Mjolnir resting loosely in his hand, ready to spring in should the big green guy suddenly turn on Natasha.

She quickly realised that the Hulk liked to be addressed directly. Though he was intimately connected with Bruce Banner, he was nevertheless his own entity and did not appreciate being called by the name of the puny mortal he was a part of. She began to call him the Big Guy, a nickname he soon became quite fond of.

The sessions continued for a few weeks, with two or three per week depending on the mood of the participants. Natasha was stubbornly determined, refusing to back down when the others cautioned her to take a break. Even Bruce was hesitant to keep up the pace.

"I don't think we're getting anywhere," he said quietly one day, cradling a cup of steaming tea. He and Natasha were sitting on the balcony outside the commons after a particularly difficult session that had involved both Iron Man and the god of Thunder trying to hold down a raging Hulk.

Natasha blew across the top of her cup. "So you just want to quit?"

"I just . . . I don't want to see you get hurt."

"This was my choice."

There was a pause. Then, "I see them sometimes, in my nightmares. All of the innocent people that were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I couldn't live with myself if you or the other Avengers were added to that list," Bruce said quietly.

Taking her eyes off the cup in her hands, Natasha shifted slightly to look at Bruce. His shoulders were hunched, making him look small and vulnerable. A haunted look stalked his eyes as he studied the wisps of steam rising from the amber-coloured liquid.

"How do you think Stark feels, knowing the hundreds of lives that paid the price in order for him to make his billions through weapon sales? What do you think Clint goes through, when he thinks about our fellow SHIELD agents that were in his path when he was under Loki's spell? How many people's lives were lost to Thor's arrogance and warmongering?" Bruce finally looked up. "We could all be drowning in a sea of guilt if we let ourselves. We're all trying to atone for past mistakes. Being one of the good guys isn't easy."

"The irony of trying to be a hero."

"If it were easy, there would be a lot more heroes than bad guys. And we'd be out of a job."

Bruce sighed. "So we continue?" He took a deep breath. "I can't do this on my own."

"None of us can. I'm here for you, and always will be."

They sat quietly for a bit longer, enjoying each other's company while watching the sky slowly change colours.

Feeling much better, Bruce turned to Natasha. "The sun's getting real low; let's call it a day."

The big breakthrough came one session when Natasha was standing calmly in front of the Hulk and chatting with him, not breaking eye contact. The Big Guy was looking at her intently, listening. Besides the occasional stamp of a foot, he didn't move.

A small smile appeared on Natasha's lips; a connection was there, she could feel it. She stepped forward. "Hey there, Big Guy. Looks like the sun's getting real low."

Something flickered in the Hulk's eyes. Natasha stopped talking and reached out a hand to lay it on one of his huge muscled arms. A shudder ran through the him. She stepped back as a spasm ran down his back, throwing him face forward to the ground. Tony and Thor made a move to run forward, but she waved them back.

"Bruce?" she asked quietly, knowing it was a risk to address the shaking figure by that name.

A pale face with dark and tousled hair looked up at her. "Tasha?"

"Hey," Natasha smiled. She crouched down on the ground beside Bruce and reached out a tentative hand, laying it on his arm.

Another shudder ran through him, but this time Natasha didn't step away. She stayed how she was, hand resting lightly on his arm, until Bruce's breathing had returned to normal. He looked up at her with an awed look, mirroring her smile. "It worked."

* * *

 **A/N:** I had originally wanted to write this as romantic one-shot, but it turned into more of a friendship/hurt/comfort thing. Personally still not sure how I feel about the whole Bruce/Natasha pairing but ok MCU, thanks for doing the completely unexpected and giving us a ship nobody saw coming.


	20. Realignment

**Realignment**

 _In which Thor makes a very dramatic re-entrance to Midgard after his lengthy absence._

It was early November - November 4th, to be exact. The few trees in the backyard of the Tower grounds were already mostly bare of leaves; just a few tough survivors still fought against the breeze that whirled through their fallen comrades on the ground. There was a chill in the air, promising the imminent arrival of a colder season. Despite the cooler temperatures however, two blond-haired men were casually throwing a baseball back and forth as if it were still high summer.

"SHIELD keeping you busy?" asked Steve Rogers, reaching up a gloved hand and neatly catching the baseball. He was wearing a grey and blue unzipped hoodie over a white t-shirt and blue jeans. An old and very worn Brooklyn Dodgers cap sat on his head.

"The usual. You?" Clint threw the ball back without even looking. He knew his aim was perfect. He wore his usual jean and plaid shirt combination, this time with a brown leather jacket thrown over top.

"Same old. I've started running around the Washington Monument down in DC a few times before the sun rises as an extra warmup to loosen up my muscles."

"Solid. I've never been one for cardio myself. My morning exercise involves shooting down any pigeons that fly past my window.

The inconsequential chatter continued. It was a very ordinary, almost boring, late autumn afternoon. Boring until Steve threw the baseball towards Clint for the umpteenth time, a shade higher than the previous throws. Hurtling through the air, the ball suddenly disappeared, as if passing through an invisible portal.

Clint looked at the man standing on the lawn across from him, then stared back into the sky. "Please tell me I'm not going crazy."

Before Steve could reply, Tony Stark came around the corner of the Tower. "There you two are. I wa-" He never finished the sentence because at that instant a baseball came hurtling out of thin air and smacked him straight in the head.

"Seriously?" he burst out. He picked up the ball and glared furiously at the other two men who were just standing there and staring at him with a strange expression on their faces. "How did you manage to hit me in the _back_ of my head?"

"I didn't . . ." Clint began.

"The ball . . ." tried Steve.

Tony snorted. "Here's your damn ball back." He lobbed the ball towards them only to watch it disappear out of sight in midair. His jaw dropped. "I don't think that's normal."

All three of them waited but nothing happened.

"This could be something of particular significance." Tony was the first to get over the initial shock and find his voice again. "Let's go find the doctor."

They found Bruce Banner scrambling around in a lab, with various machines in all corners emitting beeping sounds or flashing ominously.

"This isn't good, this isn't good, this is so not good," he was muttering to himself, fiddling with a few buttons on a hologram screen which was showing different graphs and sensors.

"Hey Doc, there's a mini space portal outside on the grounds," Tony announced.

"It stole my baseball," Clint complained. "It was autographed too."

Bruce looked up, a wild look of panic in his eyes. "I don't know what's going on guys, the gravitational sensor readings are going crazy all over the globe. It's like gravity doesn't exist anymore in specific spots, the increases and decreases are -"

Tony held up a hand. "I have no idea what you're talking about so let's just stick to the point. What are we dealing with? Because I really don't need another wormhole opening up into space."

"I don't know, Tony. I have no idea. This is a case for Dr. Selvig."

"Thor's friend?"

"The guy who built the tesseract portal?"

"He's an expert in astrophysics," Bruce replied. "Him and Thor's girl, whatever her name was. Can we get in touch with them?"

Three pairs of eyes turned to the tall blond figure of Captain America. He snapped to attention. "Right. Clint get a hold of Fury and see if SHIELD knows anything more. And contact Natasha. If this is a case for the Avengers, we need to be ready. Stark, see what's on the news. Any sightings of anything unusual? And Doctor, use you're contacts with the science world. Try and contact Selvig and figure out what's going on."

The first few phone calls yielded no results. Nobody at SHIELD had any answers. In fact, Clint detected a mild hint of uncertainty with the thinnest veneer of panic in Fury's voice. The situation seemed very serious.

Bruce put down his phone. "I can't get a hold of Selvig. Nobody knows where he is."

Tony pulled up a news video on his StarkPad of a naked Selvig running around Stonehenge like a madmen while being chased by a bunch of police officers. "He was arrested two days ago."

"Arrested?"

Suddenly the bleeping machines begin to wail like a siren. Holographic lines flashed at a dizzying rate across the class="Apple-converted-space"

Bruce held his hand over his ears. "Shut those things off, Tony! I can't hear myself think!"

When Tony didn't immediately do anything, Clint fished a second baseball out of his jacket pocket and whipped it at a power board of switches and dials beside the main entrance to the lab. It crashed into the metal plate with an explosion of sparks. The lab went dark, and blissfully quiet.

"Problem solved."

Tony turned on the archer. "Short-circuiting my lab is not what I would call _problem_ _solved_ ," he hissed.

Steve had picked up the StarkPad that Tony had held previously and was looking at some more news footage. "Take a look at this," he told the others. "There's something serious going down in London."

"London as in London, England?"

"The video is blurry but I can't find my glasses without the lights."

"Is there a bigger screen in here?"

"Well there is but it currently isn't functioning because _somebody_ wrecked the electrical power board for this lab."

"Hey", Steve interrupted in his quiet but commanding captain's voice. Everyone immediately shut up. "Let's all head up to the commons. Calmly."

"Exactly," Tony parroted in his best Captain America impression. "We're the Avengers. Wormholes and saving the world and all that jazz is our day job."

"I don't think Steve would ever say 'all that jazz'," remarked Clint as the four of them left the lab.

A short ride up the elevator later, they were gathered in the meeting area of the second floor of the commons that contained a large oval table and several screens at the front of the room. The most notable feature of the gathering space for official Avenger's business, besides a large five by three foot panoramic picture of the six of them in their heroic pose during the battle of New York, was a fancy-looking chrome coffee machine. After the first ever Avengers meeting started 45 minutes late because everybody had had to make their coffee downstairs, Tony bought the coffee machine specifically for this room without further ado. Even though this wasn't an official meeting, he and Clint had already made a beeline to the machine and pressed the appropriate buttons. Bruce still a cup of lukewarm tea in his hand. Only Steve appeared to be more focused on the problem at hand rather than increasing his daily caffeine intake.

"Jarvis, please bring up the live video footage of BBC News London."

"Certainly, Mr. Rogers."

The almost-familiar skyline of downtown London popped up on the largest screen. Almost-familiar because there was a a very large, oddly shaped, black pointy object that didn't quite belong.

"What can only be considered an alien spacecraft has materialized out of the Thames and come to a stop amidst the green courtyard of the Royal Observatory of Greenwich," the newscast announcer was saying in his clipped, British accent. "The spacecraft's intent is clearly hostile, as alien attacks have been reported in and around the Observatory, although for the time being the attacks seem very localized. Civilians are strongly advised to stay away from the Greenwich area for the time being and residents are asked to evacuate, should the situation escalate. First responders are already on scene and two fighter jets from the Royal Air Force are on route."

The camera angle then focused on the sky above the chaos on the ground. "Strange portals to what appear to be other worlds in space have also appeared in the sky. It is not yet known if they are in any way connected with the strange vessel."

Tony sank into a chair and groaned, holding his head in his hands. "Not more wormholes. I can't do any more wormholes," he muttered.

"Those don't look like the portal in New York that the tesseract opened," observed Clint.

"They aren't." Bruce was at a second screen, scrolling through several pages. "According to this very garbled report about Selvig's arrest it mentions the doctor rambling on about something called the Convergence Theory. I can't find anything about it though except some really sketchy theories about the alignment of the Nine Realms and the gravitational and spacial fabrics of matter becoming very fluid between these worlds."

Clint stared wide-eyed at Bruce. "That would've made more sense in Russian."

"I don't actually understand any of this either," admitted Bruce.

"I thought you had like ten PhD's or something?"

"Seven actually. All of them pertaining to biochemistry and organic biology. Not . . ." Bruce waved vaguely at the screen where a large cloud of dust, tinged with red was now swirling around the black spacecraft. " . . . that."

The announcer's voice was back. "The situation at Greenwich appears to have escalated, although it is not known what exactly is happening. All communication with the fighter jets has also been lost. They appear to have been sucked into one of the portals. Furthermore, reports are coming in of sightings of an alien in black with a very pale face fighting a tall, blond male wearing an archaic costume of sorts.

"Thor!" four voices chorused in unison.

"Did you know he was back on Earth?"

"I haven't seen him since he left New York."

"Yeah and that was a year and a half ago."

"So are we going to do anything about this, or let our Norse god of Thunder handle the situation on behalf of the Avengers?"

Suddenly the image on the screen flickered. It flickered twice more before disappearing to show only white static. When the image reappeared a few seconds later, it showed the exact same thing, minus the giant spacecraft. The only thing that was left was a huge rift in the Observatory courtyard that looked like a giant plow had carved through the cobblestones. The portals in the sky had also shifted, and were visibly shrinking.

"I think our friend just handled that quite spectacularly."

"I'd still like to know what the hell just happened. And I really want my baseball back."

"Why don't we chuck you through one of those wormholes and you can go grab it?"

Before Clint and Tony could continue their verbal barrage, Bruce interrupted the two. "Hey, hey look! It's Thor!"

An either very fearless or foolhardy reporter had braved the impending global destruction with his camera crew and was now holding a microphone to an exhausted and bloody god of Thunder.

"Indeed, I am Thor Odinson of Asgard, member of the Avengers," the Norse warrior was saying, trying to stand up straighter and force a small smile for the camera. A petite brunette was at his side.

"Can you tell us a little bit more of what exactly happened here?"

"Well, you see the the leader of the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim, Malekith, had come into possession of the aether, a force of terrible destructive power, and was going to use it in combination with the Convergence to bring eternal darkness back into the universe. I managed to destroy him just in time to save not only Midgard but also the eight other realms simultaneously."

"Show off," Tony muttered to the screen.

The reporter looked a little taken aback. "That . . . that sounds . . . well, I mean we're terribly glad you were here. Were the other Avengers involved today as well?"

"Nope, just me," Thor grinned and swung his hammer for effect. "As the strongest Avenger I can handle saving the universe just fine on my own."

Bruce cleared his throat.

"But I would like to take this moment to say hello," Thor continued, waving in the direction of the camera. "Hello friend Avengers! You may rest assured that I have not forgotten you and shall come by for a visit as soon as I am able."

"Well at least we get a shout out," noted Clint. "Although he's almost a bad a camera hog as Iron Man."

"I am not a ca-," Tony began, but he was interrupted by a wave from Bruce.

"I managed to get a hold of Erik Selvig," the doctor said quietly, and put the call on speakers.

"Dr. Selvig, it's Steve Rogers. How are things?"

The astrophysicist's voice sounded a little shaky. "Well apart from barely avoiding the end of the world, things are . . . alright. I'm guessing you saw the news."

"We did," Steve replied as Tony said, "Including your little streak show."

"I just wanted to check in," continued Steve, glaring at the smirking genius. "Is Thor still around?"

"I think he's gone actually again, but he promised he would be back shortly. Although he said that last time too and we never saw him again until now. Anyways, thanks for checking in Captain, but I have to get to work and salvage our instruments and do some calculations before the feds sweep in again and take everything."

"Good luck, Doctor, keep in touch if you need anything." Steve hung up.

"So Thor just up and left?"

"What a jerk."

"Selvig said he'd be back. And he also said on camera that he'd stop by."

"He'll be here," Steve assured.

Indeed, four days later as the four were casually gathered in the commons. there was a sound as if a strong gust of wind had blown past, followed by a solid thud that made the Tower tremble slightly.

"And there he is, everybody," Tony announced from where he was leaning against the kitchen island. "Goldilocks and his flying hammer."

"I've missed you too, Stark," grinned Thor, as he entered in from the balcony with is cape billowing behind him. Setting Mjolnir down on a coffee table he grasped Steve's forearm in a firm warrior's embrace, then shook Bruce's hand. "It is good to be back. How fare you all?"

"We fare very well, thank you," replied Tony with his usual edge of sarcasm. "Although if you keep pulling stunts like that, you'll put us all out of a job."

"Well you know, as prince of Asgard and saviour of the Nine Realms . . ."

"And wouldn't you know, his ego rivals Stark's as well," muttered Clint as he strode forward with a smirk. "Good to see you again, Thor."

The Norse god looked around the kitchen. "You would not, by any chance, happen to have any donuts lying around, would you? I have been craving one of those with that chocolate glaze and the crunchy nuts on top for almost two years."

"I'm on it," Tony said quickly, reaching for his phone. "Hey, Happy? Yeah, I need you to do a donut run. Yes I said donut run. What do you mean that's not your job? You get paid to do what I tell you to do, so donut run it is. Lots of them. And make sure you get all the chocolate glazed ones. Oh and Happy? Make it snappy."

A very disgruntled Happy Hogan showed up ten minutes later with five large boxes of donuts. Thor happily opened the first box, eagerly stuffing an entire donut in his mouth before settling back into the leather couch with a contented sigh. He had already caught up the Avengers on the latest occurrences in the Nine Realms and updated them on the crisis of the past few days. The news of Loki's death he kept to himself for the moment; his own grief was still too raw and he feared the others would not quite share the exact sentiments.

"So what's your plan now?" Steve asked.

"I believe I shall stay on Midgard for a period of time. I would like to invite Jane Foster to stay at the Tower for a bit. She has gone through a strenuous ordeal and could use a change of surroundings."

"Of course, no problem with that," replied Tony. "I'm sure she'll enjoy my state-of-the-art labs. And if she wants another medical examination at any time, there's a great geneticist in Seoul whose number I have."

Thor nodded his thanks. "With the Nine Realms at peace, and the Allfather ruling wisely from his throne on Asgard, I had thought to take what you humans call 'an extended vacation'."

"That's a great idea," mumbled Clint through a mouthful of donut. "If only that term existed in SHIELD's vocabulary."

"You've got a place to call home here," said Steve. "As long as you need."

Thor looked around him, a smile spreading across his face. "Indeed, it is good to be back."

* * *

 **A/N:** After the, in my opinion, cinematic disappointed of The Dark World, I was so happy that Ragnarok finally brought the Thor movies on track. I always thought Thor was portrayed so one-dimensionally with very little substance and character to him before which made it difficult for me to write him. Now he's actually funny and much more real.


	21. The Man in Black

**The Man in Black**

 _In which Happy Hogan, Head of Security of Stark Industries, drops by the Tower on official work-related business._

Harold Joseph Hogan, more commonly known as Happy, was a very stressed man. Some of the stress was partially due to his very unstable working environment, since any kind of relationship with the great Tony Stark tended to involve a lot of side baggage. Unfortunately for Happy, he had both a working relationship and friendship with the self proclaimed Iron Man which led to frequent, very stressful, conflict of interests. Nevertheless, the majority of the stress in Mr. Hogan's life was a result of the fact that, although he meant well, Happy took everything just a tad bit too serious. It was one of those quirky character flaws that he would never admit to himself, and everyone else just thought provided too much amusement for their own benefits to want to do anything about it.

When the Avengers were formed after the battle of New York, Happy's daily stress levels skyrocketed.

The Avengers Inc. were officially and legally a subsidiary division of Stark Industries. This move had been carried out by the CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Potts, who wisely foresaw that giving the Avengers legal definition would prevent a lot of headaches in the future if questions ever came up concerning salaries, taxes, lawsuits, governmental supervision, etc. For Happy Hogan, this meant that as Head of Security of Stark Industries, the Avengers were technically - in his mental reasoning anyway - also under his jurisdiction.

Thus it was that a yellow New York City cab drove up to the Tower one day and deposited a scowling figure wearing a black suit and back sunglasses on the sidewalk.

"Unbelievable! I work as Tony's personal driver for years on end and when I finally get a promotion I have to take a dirty and poorly maintained cab whose driver is most likely highly under-qualified to properly drive a person of my status. Not to even mention his ridiculously overcharged rates."

Very much put out, he stalked towards the Tower. He was also peeved that he didn't know this area of New York well enough to know a good coffee shop to go to for his morning double espresso with a shot of cold skim milk. Happy Hogan was therefore both stressed and non-caffeinated when he set his first foot inside the Tower.

"Hey, hey, you there!" he called out to the first person he saw. "Where's your security badge? No authorized personnel are allowed on the Tower grounds and I don't see any authorization."

The unfortunate target looked a little flustered. "Umm, I'm just the mailman."

"Oh yeah? Really? I bet anybody could say that and just walk up and deliver a whole bunch of packages with bombs inside them. But you know, that's not going to happen on my watch. So I'm not going to ask again, where's your proof you're the real mailman."

The man didn't reply, just pointed to his dark navy jacket with the logo of the US postal service stitched in the top right corner.

"I suppose that'll do," Happy conceded grudgingly, although he fixed the man with a fierce glare from behind his sunglasses. "Any funny business and you'll regret it. I've got your boss on speed dial!" he called after the mailman who was hastily retreating back to his delivery van.

His next order of business was to terrorize the security room on the first floor. He insisted on going through all of the documents and digital files, then quizzing the entire security staff on a variety of protocols and procedures. He was not quite fully content with his findings and quickly dialled a number on his phone.

"Tony? Yes listen, there's a serious problem at the Tower here in New York. A few very huge holes in the standard security protocols that I've developed for Stark Industries."

 _What are you doing in New York?_

"I'm doing my job, that's what Tony. Now are you listening? There's a large deficit in proper procedures for the protection of the Avengers?"

 _What? The Tower is equipped with one of the top security systems ever designed. And that's because I designed it._

"It's not the Tower that's the problem, it's the personal security for the Avengers. Who's to make sure they're properly protected when they're not here?"

There was a short pause on the other end. Then came Tony's voice, in a very exasperated and sarcastic tone. _Happy, what makes you think the Avengers need protection? I'm fairly sure a super soldier, a god, a Hulk, and two master assassins are more than able to take care of themselves. I'm not even going to mention the time the Black Widow showed you up, Mr. Head of Security._

"That time doesn't count," Happy protested. "I was holding back."

 _I also have video coverage of that other time in Hammer's factory._

"What other time? I have no idea what you're talking about. I've gotta go now, I'm a busy man, you know." He slipped the phone back into his pocket. "Showed up, my ass," he muttered. He proceeded to write _Find and delete video footage of Operation Hammer_ into his little notebook.

Following a final speech to the security guards - involving repeated mentions of the importance of security badges and proper authorizations - he straightened his suit jacket and put on his best no-nonsense look. "As Head of Security I will continue to conduct sporadic visits to ensure that all duties are carried out with due diligence," he finished and swept out of the room with all the contentment of a job well done.

 _Floor by floor sweep of the Tower_ was the next item on Happy's to-do list. He made sure to inspect every room and every closet on every floor to check that the layout on his phone was indeed accurate, and that there was a semblance of order now that most of the staff had settled in and business was running as usual. After the third floor he was slightly out of breath and so decided to use the elevator to move up a floor higher. His eyes widened as he saw the very, very long list of floors. Not to mention the rooftop terrace.

Fortunately there was a staff lounge room approximately every five floors - at least in the bottom half of the Tower where the administrative, security, maintenance and janitorial staff of the Tower had their offices. Happy's first break on the fifth floor consisted of a quick coffee and flipping through a celebrity gossip magazine while remaining standing. By the time he reached floor 25, he dropped exhausted onto a couch and set his phone alarm for a 20-minute power nap. When the alarm rang, he remained on the couch for another 45 minutes as he watched an episode of _Keeping up with the Kardashians_. His personal favourite was Khloe.

He had finally had a sufficient break and was just about to keep going when his cellphone rang. The caller ID read _BOSS_.

"Hi Pepper. Look I know I'm your personal bodyguard but I had some serious business come up in New York that I absolutely had to look after personally. Besides, I assigned a team of highly trained personnel to look after you today."

 _Those idiots? I sent them all home because they kept getting in the way. What are you doing in New York?_

"Why do you sound like Tony? And what do you mean, you sent them home? How am I supposed to do my job if you keep contradicting my orders. You can't keep undermining me like that, Pepper. It looks very bad and I lose a lot of respect."

 _Happy, you're very good at the_ Security _part of your name, just not the_ Head of _part_.

"What's that supposed to mean?" One of the janitors entered the lounge and Happy scrambled off the couch and turned off the TV, dropping his phone in the process.

 _Happy?_ Pepper's voice floated up from the floor. _What's going on?_

Happy picked up the phone and adjusted his sunglasses. "Lack of respect for my privacy, that's what's going on," he muttered. He moved over to the corner of the lounge, trying to regain some dignity.

 _Happy, dear Happy. I don't know exactly what you're doing at the Tower, and to be honest I don't want to know, but I just had one of my former social media assistants who I personally gave the job as Head of Public Relations call me in tears because you deleted her Facebook account. And Twitter._

"Oh, well of course." The Head of Security brushed an invisible piece of dust off his black suit jacket. "That's a breach of privacy. Completely violates the workplace code of conduct."

 _It was her job._ Pepper's frustration was evident. She had enough problems dealing with her boyfriend. She didn't have time for this. _It's a PR stint. To make the Avengers more relatable, more down-to-earth and less superhero-y. You just deleted several thousand followers and a few weeks of hard work to counteract the bad press._

"Oh. Well why couldn't she just say so?"

 _Did you give her time to say anything or did you just barge in, yank the laptop out of her hands and override her security passes?_

Happy looked over his shoulder. "Where you watching me? Do you have camera footage of that?"

Pepper snorted. _No, I just know you. Well, you leave me no choice. As CEO of Stark Industries, and your boss, I hereby amend your job description to exempt the Avengers and their business, placing the Tower under the watchful protection of Jarvis._

"What? Pepper you can't just take this away from me!"

 _I'm not firing you, Happy. Just telling you to get your ass back to California and stay away from the Tower._

"Oh. You still shouldn't be undermining all my actions; it reduces my authority."

 _And how do you think it affects my authority if my Head of Security is running around and causing more chaos than a drunk Tony Stark?_

Happy was highly affronted at that comparison. "That hurts, boss. Straight to the heart."

 _Tough love. Now are you coming back willingly or do I have to come and haul you out of there personally_.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Happy grumbled. "But my plane doesn't leave until early evening."

 _Fine. But stay out of everyone's way. If I get one more phone call, you're done._

"Yes, boss." Happy hung up the phone with a very disconsolate expression. "I never get any appreciation around here. I put in so much effort to do my job and it's always 'Happy this' and 'Happy that'. But do you think I would get so much as a 'Thank you' every now and then? No, of course not. I'm under appreciated, underpaid and frankly just plain disrespected by my boss. Is that any kind of working environment? I should quit. Maybe I'll just march in to Pepper's office and be like 'You know what boss, I'm done. I've had it and I quit.' I bet they'll all come running and crying to me in a few days and want me back. That's right, they'll soon realize how much I actually do around here. I mean Stark Industries would collapse without me."

Hey, you. Do you always talk this much to yourself?"

Happy whirled around. The white-haired janitor stood in the middle of the room, leaning against his cleaning cart and looking at him with a sardonic expression behind his black-rimmed glasses. His retirement date had probably been a few decades ago but that didn't seem to faze him.

"No, I mean yes. I mean what is it to you?" snapped Happy.

"Nothing at all. I really couldn't care less. But you're in my way so unless you want to get sucked up by my super-powered vacuum cleaner, designed by Tony Stark himself, I suggest you step it."

The janitor may have looked like an innocent old man, but he held his vacuum in his hands like he meant business and Happy wasn't going to argue with him. Instead he slipped on his shades and walked out.

"Don't forget to clean behind the couches! And under the sink! I'll be checking!"

"I know how to do my job, I've been doing it for longer than you've been alive. Just focus on your own work."

"Staff supervision _is_ part of my job, grandpa," Happy grumbled as he stalked towards the elevators. As the doors closed in front of him, he realized belatedly that in fact supervision of the Tower staff was no longer belonged to his duties. He thus had a lot of spare time to kill, and told the elevator to take him to the commons. "I am an Avenger after all. Sort of anyway. At least honorary. Part-time. B-List. Whatever. I'm allowed into their lounge."

The elevator stopped on the appropriate floor, but the doors refused to open. Happy waited five seconds. "Hello?"

"I regret to inform you, Mr. Hogan, that you do not have clearance to enter the commons," JARVIS informed him.

"What! Are you kidding me? We'll see about that." Mildly irate now, Happy reached for his phone.

"Tony. Yeah it's me again. I don't care if I just woke you up, it's the middle of the afternoon anyway. So, can you explain to me why I don't have clearance for the commons. I'm the Head of Security of Stark Industries. I have clearance for _everything_."

 _Umm well no, actually you don't. And correct me if I'm wrong, but as far as I was aware, your title does not include the word 'Avenger'._

"Pepper's allowed in."

That's because she's the boss. Literally. Also my girlfriend.

"What about Nick Fury?"

 _Well he's not technically allowed in, but he has the bad habit of overriding my security protocols . . . so I've just let that pass. Besides he's also sort of the boss. Not of the Avengers, but just in general. He's like THE boss._

"That's not fair, Tony. I should be allowed in. So far my promotion has had zero perks. I still have to clean up after you, and drive you, and everything else. I deserve to be allowed into the commons."

Tony didn't immediately reply. There were a few undistinguishable noises in the background, and then the very clear sound of a flushing toilet.

"Are you in the bathroom?"

 _No, I'm on the balcony. Of course I'm in the bathroom! Where else would I put the toilet?_

"I can't believe I'm having a serious discussion with you and you're just . . . actually never mind, I don't want to know. See this is what I'm talking about. Same old shit."

 _Not that old actually. Fairly recent in fact. Consider yourself lucky that I just did an audio call and not with video._

"Are you going to give me clearance or not, Tony?"

 _Fine. But only because you're annoying me and I want you to shut up. And just this once. Do not think this is going to be a regular occurrence, Mr. Not-A-Part-Of-The-Avengers._

JARVIS spoke up again in his smooth, computer-regulated voice. "Mr. Stark has granted clearance for Mr. Hogan to access the commons. Doors opening."

"Thank you Jarvis. Tony."

 _Don't break anything. Or embarrass yourself again. I have video cameras everywhere._

"GoodBYE, Tony." Happy hung up and looked around him with an intense feeling of satisfaction despite Tony's snarky words. He might not actually be an Avenger, but all things considering, he was pretty damn close. And standing in the middle of their lounge felt like a major accomplishment.

He enjoyed the view of downtown New York for a bit, made himself another coffee and a grilled-cheese sandwich, and then tried every single one of the couches and armchairs before plopping himself down into the most comfortable one.

"This is life," he murmured contently to himself before closing his eyes and promptly falling asleep.

Several hours later, Happy was rudely awakened from a very delightful dream in which he'd just been issued a sparkling, brand-new security badge with the title 'Avengers' in big, bold letters across the top. He blinked, opening his eyes to a darkened lounge and massaged his neck to loosen his stiff muscles. "What's going on?"

"That's what we'd very much like to know."

He blinked again. Standing before him, arms crossed and frowning severely, stood both his current and former boss.

"Your plane left a couple hours ago. Without you. Care to explain?" asked Pepper. She looked calm, but Happy knew from experience that that could be very deceiving.

Panic suddenly swept through Happy and he scrambled up in alarm. "What do you mean, the plane left? What time is it? What happened? Why are even you here? How are you here?"

"The plane had a schedule to keep. It's almost 9. You slept; and snored - very loudly. We're just checking up on you. I do have a private quinjet as you probably know," Tony deadpanned. He was wearing his dark red tinted glasses so it was hard to tell what his actual mood was.

There was a long awkward silence. Happy didn't really know how to respond, and so elected to not say anything. He supposed it would have been even more embarrassing if one of the other Avengers had come across him fast asleep in their lounge. Finally Pepper uncrossed her arms.

Come on, it's getting late and I have an early morning meeting tomorrow in Los Angeles." She and Tony turned around together and walked towards the elevator.

Happy was a frozen for a moment, and then hurried to catch up after them. "That's it?" he asked hesitantly. He had feared a demotion or something along those lines.

Tony turned around with a smirk. One of those very dangerous smirks that indicated nothing good. "I think you've been punished enough, Mr. Head of Security."

It wasn't until the next day that Happy realized the meaning behind those words. Everyone he met kept smirking or stifling a laugh as soon as they caught sight of them, their glances always returning to his badge. Taking a look at the plastic piece of identification proudly fastened to his jacket in clear visibility, Happy's eyes grew wide with horror. Beneath the title 'Head of Security' and the Stark Industries logo was a newly updated picture of a very peaceful looking Happy in his usual black suit and glasses, fast asleep in a comfortable armchair, mouth slightly open as if in the middle of a deep snore.

"Damn you, Tony Stark."

* * *

 **A/N:** I never really realized how utterly hilarious Happy actually is until I recently watched a YouTube compilation of some of his best scenes. Which inspired me to write this. Also, did you know there's no 'Happy Hogan' character selection on this site. Unbelievable. That guy deserves more.


	22. Agents of SHIELD

**Agents of SHIELD**

 _In which the three SHIELD agents doubling as Avengers receive a visit from another very special team of SHIELD agents._

"Yes sir. Of course. Immediate retrieval of the 0-8-4 and transference to the Bus team followed by subsequent delivery to the Fridge. I understand completely. Yes, there will be no dilly-dallying. No sir, I did not just roll my eyes. And yes I - actually, I've the got the welcoming team here now so I'm going to hang up. Goodbye, sir."

Maria Hill pressed the red circle on her phone with a little more force than necessary. It wasn't that she disliked her job or her boss, but both of them could occasionally be a little frustrating. As Deputy Director of a spy and law enforcement agency with operations all over the globe she didn't appreciate being sent to the Tower for a babysitting errand and then being reminded on exactly how to proceed. Although she did have to admit that it was nice to get out of Washington for a change and she was more than just a bit curious to get a look inside the Avengers headquarters.

"Commander Hill. Good to see you."

"How's Fury doing?"

"Is there actually an answer to that question?"

Maria dipped her head in greeting to the three SHIELD agents that were approaching her from the Tower's main entrance. "Rogers. Romanoff. Barton. And I think I'm going to have to agree with Clint, the answer to that question will forever remain one of life's great mysteries."

"I'll get the answer out of him some day," Natasha said with a smirk and a toss of her fiery red curls. She was wearing jeans and a dark brown leather jacket over a navy blue top - a rare instance when she changed her agent's suit for something more casual.

"In the meantime I'll be glad to get our hands off our current mystery. You said you have a team coming to collect it?" asked Steve. The blond super soldier was smiling and at ease, seemingly very comfortable in the current environment.

"Yeah, we have a small team that specializes in 0-8-4's. A couple members should be here shortly. I was tasked with handling the transference since I know both the team and you three and they need a high-ranking officer's signature on these kinds of papers."

Clint shook his head. The archer had traded in his bow and leathers for jeans and a t-shirt. "This is why I'm glad I never finished school. Makes for a great excuse not to do all those craploads of paperwork and forms."

"The Black Widow's death stare is a pretty good excuse too," deadpanned Natasha.

Maria sighed. "I'll pretend I didn't hear either of those things."

"You know you love us, Hill," smirked Clint.

Before Maria could respond, a baby blue van with a white top rolled up to the gated entrance to the Tower grounds. Steve signalled an all clear to the security guards and the black steel gates soundlessly slid open letting the van into the grounds. It came to a stop halfway up the paved driveway accompanied by the sound of screeching breaks. The side door was quickly jerked open and a petite brunette dressed in jeans, combat boots, and a plaid top going down to her knees hopped out, looking around her with open curiosity. The passenger door was opened more slowly, revealing a tall, dark-haired man impeccably dressed in a black suit.

"So . . . this is where the Avenger guys hang out," the young woman drawled, twirling a finger through her hair.

Her companion looked down at her briefly with a smirk. "You try anything funny today Rookie, and I'll ask them to bring up surveillance videos of all their crazy cosplay fans."

The addressed rookie looked up at her SO with a murderous glare. "Don't you dare."

Maria stepped forward and reached out her hand. "Agent Ward, I see you managed to navigate New York traffic just fine."

"A bit more slow-going on the ground, I admit, but nothing that our pilot couldn't handle." He shook the offered hand.

At his words, Maria's eyes flicked over to the driver's side of the van where a dark-haired woman, similarly dressed in dark dress pants, cream shirt and blazer was stepping out of the van. "Are the introductions done yet?" she asked in a bored and emotionless voice.

"I don't believe it!" Clint stepped forward, eyes open in surprise. "Melinda May not surrounded by an impenetrable wall of paperwork around her fortified cubicle."

"You've moved up in the world as well, I see," May replied with the same frown on her face, but her voice was much lighter. She nodded briefly at the redheaded woman standing beside Clint. "Nat."

"Mel."

Ward turned to his team member, eyebrows raised. "You're on a nickname basis with the Black Widow?"

"Of course, Agent Grant Ward," Natasha answered for her. "Where do you think Melinda gets her scotch from?"

Steve took a few steps towards the two newly arrived agents and shook their hands. "I don't believe we've met yet. I'm Steve Rogers. Welcome to the Avengers Tower."

A muted squeal came from behind Ward's back and a head poked out from his side. "Captain America himself! You don't mind if I get a picture with you do? I'm Skye by the way, I'm a part of the Bus team."

"This is not a sightseeing trip, Skye," Ward frowned. "Try and behave yourself."

Skye huffed and rolled her eyes. "As I've already been told. Lots of times. Thank you."

Natasha and Clint stepped forward to join the odd-shaped circle the others had formed.

"You a SHIELD agent too? Or did you just forget to read the protocols on proper dress code?" asked Natasha.

"Don't tell me that hideous excuse for a vehicle is your bus?" This question came from Clint, who was staring at the run-down blue contraption with a mixture of shock and horror.

"Excuse me, mister," retorted Skye, drawing herself up to her full height. "I don't really know who you are but this blue hunk of scrap metal has served as my home for several years so let's not go around insulting it. And clearly you three have drawn out casual Fridays to include Thursdays as well so don't tell me what I should or shouldn't wear."

Maria held up her hands to stop any further ensuing arguments. "I'd rather not get into any discussions about dress code protocols with Agents Barton and Romanoff. It's a lost cause."

"Well I don't blame them," May spoke up, crossing her arms across her chest. "I hate this suit."

"What is it with SHIELD and suits anyway?" Skye spoke up again. "I really don't get it."

"It's proper decorum, first of all," the Deputy Director replied, looking at the newest member of the Bus team with a frown. "And our store chain for business clothing is a great cover for gathering and passing on intel."

Skye laughed. "Of course you guys have an undercover store chain. What's it called?"

"SUITS."

"Are you kidding me right now?"

"Not at all. It stands for Secure Undercover Intelligence Transmitting Site."

Skye just looked up at Ward with an incredulous look.

Her SO replied with a roll of his eyes. "Apparently we're a big fan of acronyms. Try not to hold it against me."

"Is there a good reason for why you're resident consultant hacker is here as well?" Maria asked May.

The other woman shrugged. "It's her van. We were told we couldn't use our SHIELD vehicles and she wouldn't hand over the keys until she was allowed to come along."

"Resident consultant hacker, huh?" repeated Steve. He grinned at the young woman. "It's a good thing we have an impenetrable network here at the Tower."

Skye grinned back, though she itched to put her skills into practice and test that last statement. She was interrupted from continuing the conversation by Maria Hill, who insisted that they proceed to the formalities and why they were actually all here. All seven of them headed towards the Tower and the newcomers were given security badges. Both May and Grant gave Skye another stern look; the hacker's first move had been to peer into the security office and take stock of their high-tech equipment.

"We've got the 0-8-4 safely stored and secured on one of our storage floors," Steve was saying to Maria as they all got into an elevator.

"What's the story behind this one anyway?" May asked. "Normally we get the first heads up whenever dealing with an 0-8-4."

"We came across it on a Strike Team mission," answered Clint. "Standard op, infiltration and then neutralization of the targets. Wasn't until the last men standing got desperate that they decided to power up whatever it was. Didn't end well for them."

"Must've been more than a standard op if all three of you got sent in along with a Strike team." There was a reason that May had been one SHIELD's top specialists before she asked to be transferred to the administrative bureau.

Clint and Natasha exchanged glances, but it was Maria who answered for them. "It's classified. Any information about any operations are not to be shared with other agents."

Several of her listeners rolled their eyes, mainly those who weren't too attached to following protocols. The others took the hint and stayed quiet until the elevator doors opened. At the far end of the storage room, behind a triple-enforced steel door only opened via a code and iris scan, a single, medium-sized suitcase was standing in the middle of the vault.

"Skye get the tech ready and get a hold of Fitz-Simmons. We're not taking any chances with this thing," May ordered.

Complying, Skye opened her backpack and removed a small drone and tablet. Meanwhile Steve had laid down the suitcase and opened it, to reveal an oddly-shaped object that looked vaguely like an alien weapon of mass destruction. A clipboard had materialized in Maria's hands and she handed it to Steve and May to sign as the others looked on with interest.

Skye had finished fiddling around with the tablet and was holding it out in front of her. "Hey guys, can you here me?"

"Loud and clear," a Scottish voice sounded from the tablet.

"Hi Skye, is everything alright?" a second voice sounded, this time with a British accent.

"Right as rain. Although I was accepting a welcome cocktail and detailed tour of the place, neither of which have happened yet." Skye switched the camera view and briefly swept the room. "Fitz-Simmons, everyone else. And there's the 0-8-4."

"Interesting design, don't you think? It looks fairly similar . . ."

". . . to the one we found in Peru, yes, but it's hard to do a full diagnostics from here. Ward could you please . . ."

". . . activate the dwarf? I've got the wireless controls and will do a temporary sweep to ascertain it's not going to explode . . ."

". . . or leak unidentifiable substances everywhere. Even though that would be pretty exiting."

Clint's eyes flicked back and forth between the pair of scientist. "They're already giving me a headache," he murmured to Natasha.

Steve moved to the side so he was in view of the camera. "I appreciate your efforts, but both Stark and Banner have already done a very thorough once-over so I don't really think this is necessary."

Fitz and Simmons exchanged glances and chuckled.

"Well, not to contradict Captain America . . ." the British biochemist began.

". . . and we would never call into question the intellect of your fellow Avengers . . ." continued the Scottish engineer.

". . . but neither of them are SHIELD agents. And we are."

"With several PhD's to our names and a responsibility to our fellow teammates to protect them as best as we can."

"So best let us do our job." finished Simmons, proceeding to press several buttons on the tablet in his hands.

Steve stepped back without another word and immediately the drone which Ward was still holding in his hands rose into the air with a whir. A blue laser beam began to scan the object in the suitcase.

The procedure lasted several minutes, during which Natasha and May had retreated into a corner to chat quietly while the others observed the little drone. All except Ward who was observing Skye sitting crosslegged on the ground and trying to covertly tap away at the tablet in her hands.

"All right, all finished," Fitz finally spoke up. "But handle it with care and don't jostle it. We're not sure what effects any vibrations will have on the 0-8-4."

"Well that's all set then," concluded Maria, signing off at the very bottom of the sheet on her clipboard. "Gather this thing up and we can all go home."

"You seem eager to get rid of us," said Ward with a pointed look at the Deputy Director.

"I've got more important things to do, Agent. I am trying to run this entire organization and I do not get paid to babysit."

The two female agents had rejoined the group. "Oh drop it, Hill. Skye's apparently very put out that she hasn't been given a drink yet and you look like you can use one too," Natasha threw in.

At the mention of her name, Skye's glance left the tablet for a moment and she smiled broadly at the speaker. "I vote in favour."

"This isn't even a vote," exclaimed Maria in frustration. "Is she always this irritating?" she asked Ward.

"Hey!"

Ward shrugged nonchalantly. "This is actually pretty mild for Skye. You get used to it."

"Hey!" Skye repeated. "I don't really appreciate all this super not subtle talk that you're doing."

"Come on, Hill. I know you've been dying to check out our lounge anyway," Clint threw in.

Maria sighed in defeat. "Fine. But no other extra stops on the way. And definitely no putting any technical equipment into her hands." She pointed at Skye.

"Technical what?" the brunette looked up from the table with an innocent expression, raising her hands in surrender.

A dry chuckle escaped Ward's lips. "You do realize she's been trying to hack into the Tower's networks as soon she turned on that tablet?"

Skye dropped the innocence act and smiled coyly. "Unfortunately Captain America was right. It is the most secure network I have ever encountered. The best I can do is peek."

Maria pressed her lips together tightly in frustration. "I want that tablet turned off right now and put into that backpack! And I definitely want that drink now," she said under her breath.

"You heard the commander. Pack it up, Skye," May ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," muttered Skye but followed the orders immediately.

Her soured mood lifted considerably when they entered the commons. Even May and Ward were looking around with open curiousity. Despite the fact that Director Fury had had the Bus completely renovated and outfitted with no expenses spared, it almost seemed a bit drab and definitely more cramped in comparison to the lavish and extensive commons room of the Avengers.

Even Maria had to try hard not to look impressed. "I can see why you prefer to spend your time here instead of at the Triskelion."

"It's become home," said Steve with a smile. "It's nice to have a place where you know you can finally relax."

Skye got up from the couch she had been testing for comfiness. "You guys wouldn't be accepting applications by any chance? I've been considering a career upgrade lately."

"You've already got one," Ward replied. "Remember a couple months ago when you were living in your van?"

"Oh you mean before I got abducted by force and a black hood stuffed over my head? Yeah, good times, Ward. Thanks for the reminder."

"Unfortunately we aren't accepting any applications at the moment," remarked Steve with an apologetic look as he came over with two drinks in his hand. "Consolation drink?"

"I suppose that'll do for the moment." Skye feigned reluctant acceptance. She elbowed her SO in the ribs. "You should be taking notes. This is how a proper team leader behaves."

"Well it's a good thing I'm not the team leader then."

Clint wandered over with a beer in his hand. "Speaking of which. How is our deal old friend Phil doing?"

Ward exchanged a look with May while Maria's head shot up in surprise. "That's supposed to be classified."

Clint snorted and took a swig of his beer. "How he's doing is classified or the fact that I know he's the team leader?"

"We're clearance level 11, Hill," Natasha smirked. "We know everything."

"There's no such thing as level 11," protested Ward.

"There is now."

Steve had been following the conversation with a puzzled look on his face. "Wait, are you talking about Phil Coulson? He's alive?"

SHIELD's Deputy Director sighed heavily. "Do you two even know the meaning of classified?" she asked her top two agents.

"We know the meaning of secret," Clint admitted. "But classified is a bit harder to understand."

"Oh, speaking of which . . . I almost forgot!" Skye reached a hand into her jean pockets and withdrew a rather wrinkled and blood-stained card with Captain America's picture on it. "Coulson asked me to get you to sign this," she told Steve. "He wanted me to bring back a souvenir from our sightseeing trip."

* * *

 **A/N:** I finally got around to watching Agents of SHIELD and I just had to write this crossover. What I loved most about the show was the incredible character development - so much depth and amazing character arcs. But this fic takes it all the way back to the beginning, somewhere around the first three or four episodes of the first season. Back to when things were a lot less complicated, because yes, I will ship SkyeWard forever. For those who haven't seen the show, I hope you liked this one shot anyway and that it might just nudge you into watching it. :)


	23. Mission: Briefing

**Mission: Briefing**

 **In which the Avengers prepare themselves a new mission at hand.**

Six very similar phones lit up simultaneously with an identical message. Despite the similarities of the phones however, their individual locations as well as the current activity of the six different owners varied slightly.

Two of the Avengers were presently engaged in the largest of the Tower's training rooms - a bare gymnasium with varnished wooden floors and whitewashed cement walls. Its plain appearance was suddenly belied, however, when a jagged lightning bolt ripped through the air but then struck against an invisible field of energy that absorbed the violent energy.

Two figures stood in the centre of the gym, staring after the vanished lightning.

"That seemed much more effective," commented a tall, blond god of Thunder.

"The shield or our technique?" asked a tall, blond super soldier.

"Both really. You don't even notice the damage to the wall due to our last round of experimentation."

"No, although Tony's pained shriek is still ringing in my ears."

"Well, it was a very big hole."

"Quite. Shall we try again?"

Steve took up position, the straps of his blue, red and white painted shield firmly grasped with both hands. He held it up at chest height, slightly angled away from himself and towards Thor's position. The Norse god was standing about 20 feet away, hammer raised. At a nod from the captain, he channeled a lightning bolt and aimed it straight at the centre of the shield. Steve strained from the impact, but kept the shield steady, slowly angling it to his other side. The lightning blast followed the shield's angle, now forming two distinct lines with the shield at the point of the concave angle.

"Shall I stop?" Thor yelled above the loud sizzling and crackling.

"No!" Steve shouted back. "Keep it coming!" He now angled the shield upwards, diverting the bolt to the gym's ceiling.

A sudden idea came to Steve's mind, and he adjusted his shield so that the lightning bolt was aimed directly back at Thor. The two converging streams of the initial and redirected lightning formed a growing ball of pure energy in the exact middle between the two Avengers. Then the energy dispersed with a thunderous bang, travelling in all directions in the blink of an eye and knocking over both of the two men.

Picking themselves up off the ground, they looked at each other.

"That was new," said Steve dryly, rolling his shoulders to loosen his muscles.

"I think I prefer not to be on the receiving end of my own powers," added Thor. "Although as a last resort, it could prove to be quite effective."

"How's the training coming along?" a muted female voice suddenly interrupted their musings.

The two men glanced over in the direction of the voice and saw a familiar, redheaded figure dressed in her leather combat suit standing just beyond the range of the invisible dome-shaped energy shield.

"Jarvis, can you deactivate the shield please?" Steve asked.

"Of course, Captain Rogers. Ms. Romanoff, it is now safe to proceed to the centre of the training gymnasium," JARVIS replied politely.

Natasha joined her two fellow Avengers. "Now that you boys have had your fun, mind if I join in?"

"Of course not," Steve responded. "Pick up where we left off?"

"Sounds good. Thor, you ready?"

"As always." Thor walked away to the side so that there was ample space between himself and Steve. His hammer he held firmly in his hand.

Natasha also proceeded to walk a good fifty steps away from the super soldier before turning around and fixing him with a concentrated stare. Steve crouched down slightly, his shield facing the redhead. He nodded. In a matter of seconds, the super spy had sprinted across the distance and leapt into the air straight towards him. As soon as her feet came into contact with the shield, Steve propelled her straight upwards, watching as she spun closer and closer to the ceiling. Right before her head collided with the solid space above, a blur of red swooped past, grasping Natasha tightly around the waste and then flying back down towards the ground. They landed firmly on their feet, battle ready with guns and hammer raised for action.

Steve grinned. "Not bad. I think we're getting better at judging our respective forces and distances."

Natasha nodded. "I want to try something else. Let's set up a target down over there and this time Steve, dial down on your strength to propel me up. I want to be able to get out a few shots before gravity pulls me back down."

They tried the new move several times with different variations until a cellphone began to ring loudly. Steve jogged over to a bench along the wall of the gym where he had thrown his water bottle, towel and phone. He checked the screen with a frown. "Avengers Assemble," he read. "Mission brief in 10."

Natasha had reached into a concealed pocket on the side of her hip and withdrew her own phone. Her screen was flashing with the same message. "Sent from Maria Hill. Sounds legit. That's a wrap on training then."

The three proceeded to head towards they gym's exit. "You don't have your phone on you, Thor?" Steve asked.

Thor shrugged. "I confess I find little use for that nefarious little device. I always forget it in my chambers."

"Might want get into the habit. Who knows when you might suddenly need it?" Natasha teased as the doors slid closed behind them.

Tony was already in the commons, pacing around the large oval table in their official meeting room and driving Maria crazy. The recently appointed Director of Operations was calmly standing at the head of the table and trying to ignore the billionaire's questions. She had already told him twice that she would wait for a proper briefing until everyone had gathered and she was not in the mood to repeat herself again.

The glass door, part of the glass wall that partitioned off the room from the rest of the second level of the commons, was opened and a bespectacled doctor with hair askew walked in.

"Sorry, I hope I'm not late," he said by way of greeting. "I was in the middle of a rather precarious experiment in the lab and it wouldn't have been very smart to just drop everything."

"You're exactly on time, Bruce," Maria reassured him. "In fact," she continued with a frown. "Everybody else is late as of now."

At that instant, Steve, Thor and Natasha strode in, quickly taking a seat at their respective places. The Avengers didn't actually have a seating arrangement, but they generally sat in the same places because of habit and convenience. It was also an unstated rule that the first person to show up had to make coffee for the rest of the team and it was easier when the the drinks could be placed at a proper designated spot.

"Coffee's lukewarm," the redhead complained, wrinkling her nose.

"Wouldn't be if you'd been here ten minutes ago," Tony shot back. He was always surprisingly one of the first at these kinds of meetings. There was something in him that was always itching to go out on a new mission and in his words 'kick some ass'. The other Avengers knew that he really just wanted any excuse to put on his suit and blow up stuff.

"We're still missing one," Maria frowned. "Natasha, where's Clint?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Contrary to popular belief we are not psychically linked so I have no idea." A slight sound caught her attention and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she focused her senses. "But I would bet that he's racing up the stairs right now."

The blond-haired archer was indeed dashing up the stairs two steps at a time and towards the meeting room where he came to a sudden stop in the doorway. "I was asleep. Have I missed anything?"

"Coffee that's still hot," deadpanned Tony.

"Damn." Clint made a move towards the coffee machine but a glare from Maria made him change his made and sit down immediately.

Standing straight and her tall at the head of the table, the Director of Operations surveyed the Avengers. She had to admit that they occasionally looked like an oddly assorted group of random individuals that had no idea what they were doing. Clint's hair evidenced the fact that he had just woken up while Bruce was squinting at his glasses, trying to find the speck of dust that was obscuring his vision. Tony was fidgeting in his chair like a child who can't sit still for longer than a minute. Thor and Steve were still dressed in their sweat-stained workout clothes as was Natasha, although the only female in the group was also the only one who appeared attentive and ready.

"We've been able to pinpoint the location of another Hydra base," Maria began once she had everyone's attention. "And all evidence suggests that it's not abandoned." She swiped her hand across the large screen beside her and pulled up several maps and blurry pictures. "This is in Norway, a few hours from Trondheim and near the Swedish borders."

Steve looked up at the mention of Norway. "It makes sense for Hydra to have an outpost there. The Tesseract was being hidden in Oslo when the Red Skull found it."

Maria nodded. "Which makes this one of our more promising leads. Satellite surveys haven't been able to make out how big this Hydra cell is as it seems to be mostly dug into the mountainside, but energy readings show a fairly large amount of activity."

"Any energy shields?" The question came from Tony.

"Not as far as I've been able to tell. And the surrounding area looks fairly untouched so I don't think you'll be dealing with any heavy firepower. But there's a lot of trees so definitely obscured visibility and limited manoeuvrability."

Natasha frowned. "But we were just practicing some new flying moves."

"I like trees," Clint offered.

Everybody else rolled their eyes or groaned exaggeratedly. "We know Clint."

"Anything else, Director?" Steve asked.

"Unfortunately no. Besides these satellite images I was able to get through one of my contacts at NASA, I don't have much else. Floor's all yours, Captain."

The leader of the Avengers looked at the images for a bit in silence, eyebrows furrowed. Several plans and scenarios ran through his head and he quickly evaluated the pros and cons of all of them before picking the best option. Raising his head, he quickly looked around at each member of his team. "We won't be able to land the quinjet anywhere near without being noticed so we'll have to parachute in. Bruce you'll stay at the controls; I want this to be a covert op and we'll raise less attention without the Big Guy."

Bruce nodded, innerly relieved. He was always ready to help his team in whatever capabilities he could, but he preferred to not be in the front lines of any missions.

"We'll need to get into that mountain, and I have a feeling they won't open if we just walk up and knock," Steve continued.

"Depends on how hard we knock," Tony smirked. "I've been tinkering with different power blasts for my thruster's; shouldn't be a problem to get us all inside."

"We'll keep that as our back-up option. I'd like Hawkeye and Black Widow to take the lead on this one. Scout the area and see if you can get in undetected. The rest of us will stay back until you give the signal."

Clint and Natasha exchanged glances. "I'll take point up high, you get up close," the archer said.

"Nothing we haven't done a couple hundred times before," the redhead replied as if they were talking about taking a scroll in the park. "Tony, you've got my Bites ready?"

He nodded. "Come by the lab and I'll make sure they're calibrated correctly. And I've got a couple new arrowheads for you too, Legolas."

"Do you have one with a parachute?"

Tony blinked. "No. That I don't. But I'll take a look at it for next time."

Steve turned to the man beside him. "Thor? Anything to add?"

He shook his head. "It all seems fairly basic. Reminds of that time when I was hunting giant boars in the forests of Vanaheim with the Warriors Three and we sent in Lady Sif to drive the boar out of its cave while we waited behind the trees."

"Giant boars?"

"Most delicious. An absolute delicacy. You can't hold any proper revels without a giant boar gracing the middle of the table."

"Sounds fun," Tony responded with his typical insincerity. "But hunting Hydra is also quite enjoyable."

"Speaking of which . . . let's get on it," Maria spoke up. She looked at her watch. "You have half an hour. Be ready and suited up in the hanger at 1700 hours. That'll get you on site under the cover of darkness and you'll be in place while the cell is hopefully still asleep. Briefing adjourned."

The Avengers dispersed. Steve and Thor headed back to their respective floors where they quickly showered and suited up. Looking in the mirror, Captain America adjusted his belt and slipped on the shoulder straps that let him fasten his shield to his back. He'd talked to Tony about a different look when SHIELD fell. His current blue, red and white suit combined elements from his previous looks but it was distinct enough to represent a new chapter for him. Grabbing his shield, he carefully polished it as he looked for any scratches or dents. There were none of course, but the super soldier knew the value of taking good care of his weapons and besides, this was a pre-battle ritual for him ever since his time fighting in World War II.

A floor below, Thor was also going through his pre-battle rituals. The seasoned warrior was well aware that despite his skills and those of his teammates, the dangers were still very real. He was standing outside on the inset balcony that ran halfway around his floor holding a small pewter cup and a glass flask that held a golden amber liquid. He calmly poured some of it into the cup, watching the way the light sparkled through the swirling liquid. Raising the cup in a silent salute, he closed his eyes as he remembered his fallen comrades and hoped for victorious outcome for the current mission.

Meanwhile the two super spies had followed Tony to the lab reserved for outfitting and equipping the Avengers where he showed them his newest improvements to their customized tech. Clint in particular was delighted with a new set of supercharged exploding arrowheads. Without hesitation he went over to the firing range and loosened an arrow; the ensuing explosion had all three duck down and look for cover.

"I think they work," the archer commented dryly, testing the string on his bow for tautness and flexibility.

"My turn," Natasha grinned with a challenge in her eyes. Her wrists glowed an icy blue, the electric currents running up into her gloves as well.

Clint slowly backed away. "Yeah I still have to change, so I'm going to get on that," he said as he motioned towards the door. "I'll meet you at the hanger."

"The practice dummies are over there," said Tony, looking at the smirking assassin warily. He followed her over to the lifeless mannequins and explained the updates on her Widows' Bites. "These ones are calibrated with three different power settings. A simply power-up will have you at stun level. If you make a fist, the muscle tension will activate the next level which should knock most people unconscious."

Natasha experimented with a few deft hand movements, satisfied that they worked similarly to previous models. "And the final level?"

"You'll have to press that small button just below the charges on your wrist. Touch someone and the electricity flow should be powerful enough to electrocute. As a last resort in case of emergencies."

"I think they'll work just fine, thank you."

The genius waved off her gratitude. "Just pulling my weight on the team. I'll see you in 10?"

The redhead nodded and the two split ways, each heading to their quarters to dress appropriately and grab their gear.

Bruce had been the only who hadn't gone back to his floor. Instead, he had gone down to the kitchen to brew himself a fresh cup of tea - he never headed out on a mission without having previously filled this thermos. Looking at his tea collection, he decided on a white tea blend with hints of jasmine and pomegranate. Once the water had been heated to the proper temperature and the tea let seep for the right amount of time, he filled his thermos and took the elevator down to the quinjet hanger below the commons.

Maria was waiting for them all. Tablet in hand, she was triple-checking satellite images and verifying that she wasn't about to send the team into a trap. Once everyone had arrived, she looked them over with satisfaction. Despite their previous appearances, she couldn't deny that they each and everyone of the Avengers took these missions very seriously and did their part to make it a success. Captain America was standing in the centre of the group as the unofficial leader, his shield glinting in polished perfection. Beside him, Thor looked every inch an regal prince with his archaic armour, bold red cloak and neatly braided warrior tresses in his blond hair. Hakweye and Black Widow were dressed immaculately as well, checking their weapons and making sure they were carrying enough ammunition. Tony and Bruce were both wearing still civilian clothes, but they stood calmly and collected with no hint of fidgeting or nervousness.

"Good luck out there, Avengers," said Maria finally with a nod. "Come back home safely."

Steve nodded. "We will." He turned to his team. "Avengers . . ."

The other five ignored him and strode past and into the quinjet.

"Yeah, yeah, we know," Tony quipped after him. "Assemble and kick some ass. Come on Cap, we've got a mission to do."

* * *

 **A/N:** Quick little one-shot of our favourite team pre-mission . . . feedback and reviews are more than welcome! Or if you have any suggestions for future one-shots, don't hesitate to send me message!


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